


Our Love was Made for Movie Screens

by cherryvanilla



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Background Relationships, Bookstores, Coffee Shops, Cybersex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epistolary, Identity Porn, M/M, Mutual Pining, Online Romance, POV Alternating, Rimming, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Seattle, Supernatural and J2 Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-20 18:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14899832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryvanilla/pseuds/cherryvanilla
Summary: It’s 2012, and brick-and-mortar chain bookstores aren’t the powerhouses they used to be in the 90s -- thanks to Amazon -- but Morgan Books is now in its 70th year and has still managed to prevail.When the superstore announces their intention to locally expand by buying out and demolishing a few cherished shops on a quaint Seattle block, independent bookshop owner Jensen Ackles is having nothing of itorthe company’s obnoxious CEO, Jeffrey Dean Morgan. In the midst of this, Jensen has found himself interested in dating someone, for the first time in a long time. Of course, he hasn’t exactly met Bookman66 yet, but Jensen’s pretty sure the guy he’s been talking to online recently is just about as perfect as they come.Jeffrey, meanwhile, has developed feelings for Shopguy78 -- a member of the online book club he joined on a whim -- despite his own cutthroat exterior and less-than-stellar relationship track record. Now, if only he can stop thinking about the fiery shop owner he's attempting to put out of business...Loosely based onYou’ve Got Mail, which was loosely inspired by the wonderfulShop Around the Corner.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Attempts as much accuracy as possible regarding Seattle and small and big business logistics alike that research via Google has allowed. Also a few bits of dialogue have been taken verbatim from the film. 
> 
> Huge thanks to Abby for fantastic beta, to everyone who cheerled my desire to write the Jensen/JDM romcom I wanted to see in the world , and most of all to beelikej for selecting my fic to create art for, looking over the story with great enthusiasm, and creating such wonderful pieces! I am so thrilled with everything you came up with and it was a joy working with you! <333 Her art, including the chapter and email headers, is embedded in this fic, so reading with access to these images is recommended. You can find the masterpost of the art on lj [here](https://beelikej.livejournal.com/531284.html) or dreamwidth [here](https://beelikej.dreamwidth.org/531383.html). 
> 
> Each chapter is an alternating POV, except the prologue/chapter 1, which are both Jensen's and are posted together. 
> 
> I've also made a mix for this fic, found on 8tracks [here](https://8tracks.com/sometimesalways/our-love-was-made-for-movie-screens) and featuring great coverart by beelikej.
> 
> Title from All I Want by Kodaline.

  


** To: Shopguy78@gmail.com **

** Subject: Bisou **

_Bisou is my dog and we have a great many things in common. Of course, she prefers to eat leftover pieces of steak directly from her plate on the floor, barely chewing it, while I prefer to consume it at a fine dining establishment with white linen on the table and a nice glass of red wine, savoring its flavor. Which doesn’t stop me from bringing a doggy bag home, because hey, gotta take care of my best girl. She also holds the world record for slobbering on clean sheets and stealing shoes, only then to sleep with them on said formerly clean sheets._

_Don’t you love the weather in Seattle this time of year? Just cool enough for a light jacket, but not cold enough for a hat and gloves yet, and not _too_ much rain. Bisou adores it and we go for runs in the park when time (and rain) allows. She’s training for the 5k in hopes to make the next summer Olympics. I’ve told her not to forget the little people on her fast track to the top. She didn’t laugh at my ‘track’ pun, the ingrate. Speaking of Bisou, she’s glaring at me now, silently indicating it’s time for the aforementioned run, so I must bid you adieu. _

_J.D. (and Bisou too)_  
________________________________

Fall 2012

“So let me get this straight, one more time. You’re talking to this guy online, you like him, you’re not screwing him.”

Jared ticked off each point with one hand as they jogged together around the perimeter of the lake. It was Jensen’s first time in a while, too caught up with work, and he was breathing harder than he’d like to admit.

“This is the third time you’ve asked me this in the past month, and the answer is still the same.”

“Sorry, I’m just really stuck on that last part,” replied Jared, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

Jensen snorted. “I told you, we haven’t even met.”

“Cybersex, man. It’s a thing. How many times must we be over this?”

“Apparently one more,” Jensen huffed. “Is it that hard to believe I haven’t jumped his figurative bones yet?”

“Um, yes? You love sex.”

“Lots of people love sex,” Jensen pointed out.

“You jumped my _literal_ bones the night we met,” Jared countered, sounding way too smug and flirty than someone jogging at this pace had a right to be.

“It was college; there was a party and shitty beer. I did a lot of questionable things back then.”

“Ouch!” Jared held a dramatic hand up to his heart, and Jensen felt a smile tug at his lips despite himself. “Been ‘questionable’ quite a few more times since, I reckon.”

Yep, way too flirty. Jensen blamed his suddenly flaming hot cheeks on the exertion.

“Never said I grew out of my bad habits,” Jensen grumbled. He seriously didn’t want to get a boner while running.

“D’aww, you say the sweetest things.”

Jensen rolled his eyes. They'd known each other for years -- since Jared was in undergrad and Jensen was completing his MBA -- and had an on again/off again friends with benefits thing since. Sex with Jared was great and Jensen loved him, but more in a platonic-soulmate-yet-we still-sometimes-hookup kind of way.

They both discovered pretty early on that Jared was too much of a loose cannon for Jensen’s well-organized life work ethic. Or, if you asked Jared, Jensen was too much of a tight-ass for Jared’s free-spirited ways. Jensen had a business plan before he’d even graduated and threw everything he had into it. Jared switched jobs faster than the wind blew and was drowning in credit card debt. The few weeks they _had_ tried dating, during the year after Jared graduated, resulted in Jensen judging every aspect of his apartment (which he’d never seemed to have a problem with when they were just fucking), pushing Jared to apply for jobs he had no interest in, and purchasing a suit he didn’t want. It climaxed in their one and only huge fight, with Jared coming to his door in tears, hugging the life out of him, and saying “I love you but I’m never gonna be in love with you this way and if we don’t stop this now we’re gonna hate each other and I can’t lose you” all in one big, wetly babbled rush.

It was way too close to a movie moment for Jensen’s liking, yet he was grateful it didn’t end in the traditional ever-after romantic comedy way, as he too saw just how right Jared was. They’d been solid since and still scratched that itch sometimes when between relationships, but it was definitely more sporadic these days.

“Earth to Jen!”

Jensen shook himself out his thoughts and focused on the here and now, and the bemused look on his best friend’s face. Fuck Jared for getting him off track.

“How’d you end up making this about us anyway, asshole?”

Jared laughed, head thrown back, dimples on full display. “Aww, I’m sorry, I forgot. This was about you and Bookman66. Hey, you think that’s his birth year? Cuz that’d make him 12 years older than you, and while it’s not _totally_ a daddy kink situation, it—”

“Oh my god,” Jensen groaned. “Stop talking, I’m begging you.”

“Maybe you should be begging _him_ , he’d probably—”

“I hate you, I fucking hate your guts.”

Jared clapped him on the shoulder, big sweaty paw coming down. Jensen couldn’t believe he’d ever been attracted enough to let this guy into his bed.

“You love me. Probably not as much as your online crush, though. Why exactly haven’t you met him yet? Isn’t that the point of online dating sites?”

Jensen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was one piece of info he’d kept from Jared. “It wasn’t a dating site. We, uh, met on a messageboard for a book club.”

“...you are such a nerd.”

Jensen knocked into Jared’s shoulder with his own and ran a little faster. “Fuck you.”

Jared laughed and ran to catch up. “Wait, seriously, though? They still have message boards?”

“Yes, Jay, the Internet actually exists beyond porn.”

Jared gasped, mock-horrified. “Say it isn’t so!”

Jensen let out a belly laugh and picked up the pace even more, Jared matching him effortlessly stride for stride, the asshole.

Jensen knew that he wanted to open a bookstore even before he finished his MBA. His advisor had tried to persuade him otherwise: looked over Jensen’s business model, warned him that the Mom and Pop places were dying even faster in the mid-00s than they were in the late 90s, and the ones that _did_ survive had been around forever and were niche and popular enough to truly survive in the age of _Barnes and Noble_ and even the dreaded _Morgan Books_ , grandfather of the big book chains.

But Jensen refused to listen. He’d been going to small, independent bookstores since he was a kid. His grandma was the one who got him into reading, would take him to her local one for hours anytime Jensen came to visit. She’d browse the cooking and gardening sections while Jensen lost himself in picture books, sprawled on the floor of the always-colorful section with a lollipop and a smile.

Jensen had graduated with a B.A. in business, but had switched tracks after graduating, deciding to pursue further studies in Physical Therapy. He’d also moved from Texas to Seattle, desperately craving a change of scenery. However, when his grandma passed away while Jensen was in his second year in the PTA program, Jensen immediately knew how he wanted to honor her, and switched tracks again, going back to business and enrolling in an MBA program, deciding to focus on small business ownership. His father had been overjoyed to hear of Jensen’s decision to pursue business again, and then disappointed all over when he found out Jensen wasn’t going to follow in his footsteps and go the big firm accounting route.

Jensen had never been interested in accounting anyway, had only done his undergrad in it to please his dad. His dad loved being involved with big companies, but Jensen was the opposite. He wanted to go for the underdog. Wanted to _be_ the underdog, despite the challenge, and he ignored everyone’s doubts, both professionally and personally. Plus, his grandmother’s death had hit him hard, and it suddenly felt like he had a purpose, a life plan, one she would be proud of.

Jensen graduated with his MBA in 2004, and two years and a lot of capital later, Emily’s Old-Fashioned Books was off the ground. Sure, things weren’t always easy, and yes, Jensen had a quarterly fight with his financial advisor each year over his refusal to put in a café, but it was 2012 now, and even with the added obstacle of _Amazon_ , he was still staying (mostly) above water. He had a feeling his grandma would be proud.

Of course, being a small business owner and also the main worker, along with one or two employees, hadn’t exactly helped his personal life much. He could count his relationships since college that weren’t hookups on less than one hand. And usually he was fine with that, but sometimes, well. Sometimes losing himself in a good book wasn’t exactly the same as living life. Or so said Jared. Jensen normally brushed him off, but lately he’d found he was -- yearning.

He told himself it had nothing to do with a certain fellow messageboard user, but it sounded weak even in his own head.

Jensen had just been graduating high school and starting college at the height of the internet craze in the 90s. Nearly all of his classmates were obsessed with AOL chatrooms, instant messengers, and message boards. Jensen hadn’t really succumbed to the frenzy back then. He’d checked it out a little, enjoyed browsing the internet and hearing the sound of a modem dialing up and the words ‘you’ve got mail’ as you finally got online as much as the next person, but it wasn’t really his scene.

As the years went on, though, he found it really was a good way of finding people with like-minded interests and also staying connected within the local book scene, once his business was off and running. Jensen liked interacting with other literary types; he arranged readings and signings whenever he could secure them, not the big names, as they normally got swallowed up by the larger chains, but a few local authors and artists. So it was odd when he found himself acting just like his old classmates with their AOL accounts after having joined a local Seattle online book club a few months back. He’d mainly done it just to see what other people were reading or what he should perhaps start to showcase, and also for some lively discussion. Bookman66 had sent him a private message after one rather heated debate about representation in literature, saying how he agreed with him and _fuck the haters. That’s what kids these day say, right?_

Jensen had laughed aloud, replying with, _You admitting to being old, man? (I don’t know, I haven’t been a ‘kid’ in quite some time)_ , and it just evolved from there. By the following week, they’d exchanged personal emails, and somehow, in the course of a very short time, an email from Bookman66@gmail.com became the most coveted part of Jensen’s day. The guy had a sharp, dry wit about him that Jensen always appreciated in another person. He was intelligent, well-spoken (okay, well-written), and interesting.

They rarely exchanged specific information about themselves or their days. Bookman had established that from that get-go.

_Everyone lies on the damn internet, pretends to be something they’re not, so let’s not give ourselves the chance, huh? Let’s just keep it vague. No names, no professions, no specifics._

Jensen kind of wanted to protest, say it didn’t have to be that way between them. But then he thought about how busy he was and how getting involved with someone really wasn’t in the cards for him right now. No attachments or expectations were probably for the best. So Jensen had agreed, and on they went. His username on the messageboard and email were both Shopguy78, so that’s how he signed all of his correspondence, minus the numbers. A few weeks ago, Bookman began signing his own emails as ‘J.D.’ and Jensen had to wonder if it was a nickname or something.

Here’s what “Shopguy” knew about “J.D.”, closely curated over the eight weeks and change that they’d been "talking":

  * They were both business owners. That much was obvious, with the way J.D. would talk about their work and stressors. He’d mention a difficult meeting or a grueling phone call, and Jensen in turn would talk about a challenging customer who’d tested his patience.
  * J.D. was divorced. He’d casually drop a line here and there about running into ‘the ex’. It was often enough that Jensen had to wonder if they were in the same business, or at least lived rather close to one another. It was also clear his ex was a woman, and Jensen’s heart had deflated at J.D. most likely being straight, even though he’d known the odds of otherwise were less likely. They tended to stay off the topics of relationships and sexuality for the most part, so it’s not as though J.D. knew Jensen was gay. Still, Jensen never minced words when commenting on LGBTQ issues that came up on the messageboard, and J.D. would often remark about enjoying them, so at least he knew the guy wasn’t a homophobe.
  * J.D. had a dog who loved to slobber on the bed and sleep with his shoes. This was the latest bit of information he’d learned, the email coming just before his run with Jared. If he spent a good start of that run eyeing the perimeter and hoping to catch a guy with a dog, well, he’d kept it to himself. In turn, Jensen shot him off a quick email wishing Bisou luck in her Summer Olympics training and mentioning how he’d considered adopting a cat, since he didn’t feel he could give a dog the proper attention at this point in his life, although he did love them.
  * J.D. loved movies, the older the better. He’d made Jensen a list of classic Hollywood selections, some Jensen had definitely heard of and others he never had. The end of each week signaled Jensen reporting on back on the week’s film watching, and lately he found himself wishing he were watching Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn bike around Rome with J.D. himself.



Jensen didn’t pine, was the thing. It just wasn’t in his genetic makeup. Most of his relationships ended because he was always too focused on something else, never really letting himself find that balance between his professional or academic career and his private life. He couldn’t really give anyone what they seemed to be wanting and was usually the one being chased without giving himself wholeheartedly to the relationship. All his passion, all his heart, was in his bookstore. It’s where he _felt_ , truly and deeply.

But lately -- lately he’d get the same fluttery feeling in his stomach opening up an email from J.D. as he would opening a fresh new pallet of books Wednesday mornings. And it was seriously messing with his world view.

What he needed was a distraction from this guy who seemed too infuriatingly perfect to be real, even with just the vaguest of personal details.

And, well, you know what they say. Be careful what you wish for.

___________________________


	2. Chapter 2

Jeffrey Dean Morgan sat in the mind-numbing meeting, daydreaming, even though as CEO of _Morgan Books_ he should really know better. Still, he couldn’t help running his fingers idly over his cell phone, wondering if Shopguy78 had written him back since last night. He had a strict self-imposed policy of not checking his personal email during business hours. That was for later, for times when he’d actually let himself unwind with Bisou and a glass of wine and one of his favorite movies in the DVD player. He didn’t used to be that way -- it was only recently that he’d told himself to start enjoying the simpler things in life and stop checking his work email 24/7 or drafting strongly worded memos to vendors at 10 p.m. at night. If he was truly honest with himself, it had only been about two months since this change -- coincidentally around the time he started talking on the internet to a random guy he didn’t even know. 

_I love these quiet times at home, you know? Just me, myself, and I, and a book that can whisk me away to a totally different life._

Shopguy’s words from pretty early on in their conversing had stuck in Jeff’s head, replaying at random points of his day. Ironically, although Jeff was in the book business, he rarely read much. He used to be like Shopguy, escaping into fantasy worlds as a young kid in high school and then college. But pretty soon he got so roped into work and -- life -- that he fell out of it. He’d joined the online book club mainly to see what consumers were interested in and to get some ideas for _Morgan’s_ sections of showcased authors and novels, but he found himself getting caught up in the enthusiasm of the rest of the members and actually reading and commenting on the monthly selections. 

Then Shopguy’s words made him take it one step further. Jeff was still adjusting. It wasn’t easy to break old habits that had cost him a marriage and quite a few relationships since. It was rarer still to actually be longing for post-work Jeff to bleed into work Jeff. Maybe if he just snuck one look at his phone… 

“Jeffrey. Am I boring you?” 

Jeff winced and looked up at Mary-Louise. His ex was radiant as always. It had been dicey at first, still working together, but she was the best development manager around, and there was no way she was going to back down on her job just because they had failed in their personal life. Jeff didn’t blame her; they’d been together long before she joined him at Morgan Books, but she loved the job and was a valued member of the company. Somehow, they’d eventually made it work. 

“Not at all. The shops on 1st Avenue, continue.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, then glanced over to Aldis, who just shook his head, sharing some kind of silent communication that Jeff assumed was not in his favor. Aldis was the grandson to his father’s closest financial adviser, and unofficially Jeff’s assistant. He’d given the kid an internship, showing him the ropes of the business world for the past year as a favor to Aldis’ father. He was a nice kid with a good head on his shoulders and had become a trusted member of the firm despite the fact that he was still just a lowly paid intern. Somewhere along the line, and much to Jeff’s chagrin, he’d also became a friend. Jeff could count the number of _those_ he had on less than one hand; it was never really something that had bothered him. But Aldis was relentless, and had pushed his way past some of Jeff’s well-formed defenses.

“As I was _saying_ ,” Mary-Louise continued, “you’ve got a challenge on your hand with this neighborhood, Jeffrey. Belltown’s filled with stores that have been there for well over 50 years. The stretch that we’re concerned with are the adjacent Mom and Pop bakery, the classic barber shop complete with pole, and most importantly, an independent bookstore. All three own their buildings. Now, the bookstore is pretty young compared to the other shops on the block; only been in business the past 6 years or so, but we ran the numbers and it definitely gets its fair share of local traffic, even if it’s nothing fantastic. Point blank, even if we _can_ convince the owners to sell, I doubt many people in this area are going to be thrilled over having any of these stores torn down to put in a glitzy Morgan Books.” 

Jeff rolled his eyes and sat up a little straighter. “In terms of the bakery, there will be a Starbucks in _Morgan_ , they’ll get over it. Your model of the neighboring streets that you sent over last week showed another barber shop, more modern and sans pole, three blocks over. It’s time to live in the present. And, finally, we very clearly we do not care about the fate of some indie bookstore that’s still in its infancy. If I recall correctly, that’s a large reason for looking at this block and build option. Once people don’t have the choice to buy their books locally elsewhere, they will gladly give us their business.” 

Mary-Louise crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “I’m aware of that; hell, we’re on the same page here, Jeff. But it’s my _job_ , as your Head of Development, to get you prepared for traction. And trust me, you’re going to have it. For example, I’ve already had our lawyers reach out to the owner of Emily’s Old-Fashioned Books, offering a pretty penny to buy the shop for demolition purposes, and no dice.” 

“Emily’s Old-Fashioned Books?” Jeff scoffed, spinning a little in his chair. “Could that name be more pretentious? You’re telling me we can’t get some little old lady to budge her stance?” 

“ _Actually_ ,” Aldis piped up. “The shop owner is one Jensen Ackles, early 30s, entrepreneur. You’d know this if you looked at the profiles I prepared on the shops.” 

When Jeff glared hard at him, Aldis cleared his throat. “Um, sir.” 

He ignored Mary-Louise’s stifled snicker. This was exactly why Jeff never mixed business with friendship; give someone an inch and they’ll walk all over you, in front of your ex-wife, no less.

“If the two of you are done berating me.” 

Mary-Louise flat out laughed then, and Jeff told himself pouting was not what a CEO of a company should be doing, but it was a near thing.

Jeff sat up straighter, putting his boss hat on. “Look, the board has already approved this action, and that means we’ll be going forward with it, barring any unforeseen circumstances. So tell me what we need to do, and let’s do it.” 

Mary-Louise nodded and flipped through her notes, tapping the page with her pencil. “Alright, so we can probably cut deals with the owners of the bakery and the barber shop. They’re older and less committed to staying around, and are apparently considering retirement, given our initial feedback from the lawyers. For those shops, the public outrage will probably be worse than actually getting the owners to sell. Once they realize they're in favor of retirement, it’ll blow over fast. But you’re going to have to call an in-person meeting with the owner of _Emily’s_ and give him the hard sell. As of right now, our hands are tied there.” 

Jeff hummed. “Perhaps I’ll just wander into his shop while I’m walking down 1st Avenue this week.” 

Mary and Aldis snorted in unison, but it was Mary who spoke. “Right, Jeff. Because you oh so often hang around 1st Ave. There isn’t even a 5-star restaurant within 10 miles.” 

“I don’t only eat at 5-star restaurants,” Jeff mumbled. 

“Whatever. I know what you’re planning, and while I consider myself pretty non-emotional when it comes to business deals, even I can admit your swoop and grab sneak attacks can be fucking ruthless.” 

“This is why we continue to outdo Barnes and Noble in revenue year after year, my dear.” 

Mary flipped him off while mumbling “with fewer stores since they closed their west coast ones,” Aldis laughed, and Jeff just walked out of the room, trying not to count down the hours until he could email Shopguy78 about dis-fucking-respectful employees.  
_____________________

Back in his office, Jeff spent the next hour and a half or so going over the profile on the new location for _Morgan_ , from the surrounding parking situation to the amount the buildings were originally purchased for vs. the difference Morgan was offering to buy them for, in favor of breaking ground on one large building. 

There were other places to expand nearby, including an old retail building in an abandoned lot in Beacon Hill that fit zoning regulations (yet would need a lot of fixing up to meet code specifications), but Belltown was the more attractive choice, and 1st Ave had considerable amount of built-in street traffic already. Moreover, the Board of Trustees really liked the idea of another independent bookstore literally biting the dust to make way for another _Morgan_. 

Their only other Seattle location was in Laurelhurst, which was the flagship store. Built in the 1940s, it was situated in a suburban, well-to-do neighborhood where wealthy people who still wanted convenient access to the city lived. It was also where his father had been brought up and where Jeff himself had been born and raised, summers spent on the family yacht on the lake or at the local country club. (He had his own yacht now, but was often too focused on work to truly enjoy it during the summer months.)

His upbringing as a kid had made him feel disconnected to life outside of their huge house that lined the lake and the weekends spent at private country clubs, where his dad golfed and his mom dined by the water. Jeff went to private school instead of public, where he was just another rich, white kid, except with a famous father. It was college where he truly flourished, the bubble he’d been living in finally bursting. 

After his father’s passing, Jeff had focused his expansion of the regional stores on more urban locations, to great success. His next goal was to fulfill his longtime desire to expand to a more central location in Seattle proper, which brought in both street traffic and a more diverse demographic of customers to Morgan Books. And he was quickly closing in on that. The final proposals had come down to Belltown or Beacon Hill, with the Belltown location winning out largely due to the existence of _Emily’s_. 

There was more than enough money in the budget to justify the buyout and breaking of ground on a new store. _Morgan_ was definitely in competition with Amazon, just like everyone else (and even more so now than in prior years), but people still liked walking into actual bookstores, and theirs had the most competitive prices of the still-standing brick-and-mortars. 

Regardless of the board’s desire to eliminate all Independents once and for all, Jeff himself did appreciate their concept. But from a business perspective, all he could see were the errors. Take _Emily’s_ , for example, who didn’t discount or even sell used. They expected to compete with the big guns while still selling high-priced standard books and some rarer finds that only people with some extra pocket money to spare would purchase. According to the business profile, their one true strong point was their children’s section, but even that was filled with some of the same too-expensive items. 

By the time Jeff was done reviewing the portfolios, his eyes were bleary and it was already nearly six-thirty; too late for him to head over to _Emily’s_ on the way home. 

“What self-respecting bookstore closes at seven?” Jeff grumbled, grabbing his keys and his coat. Being officially off the clock meant his fingers were itching even more to check his gmail account, but Jeff still refrained. He preferred to give Shopguy’s emails the attention they rightfully deserved, loved settling in with his feet on the coffee table to read the, albeit vague, tidbits about his day or his thoughts on Jeff’s latest movie recs or one of the books they were currently reading for the club. 

Jeff had thought the whole “let’s keep our distance” thing was a good idea when he first suggested it. He didn’t anticipate feeling damned by his own words about a month into their... acquaintanceship? Friendship? Whatever it was they were doing. Jeff refused to call it flirting because he didn’t exactly know if Shopguy swung that way, although he had his suspicions. Besides, everything between them had been incredibly polite and cordial up until this point. Sure, there was some playful teasing here and there, but Jeff was pretty sure he’d be able to tell if they were actually flirting, despite never having done this online thing before.

By the time Jeff pulled into his driveway, his fingers were tapping restlessly on the steering wheel. Exiting the car, he took long strides to his door. 

“Get it together, Morgan,” he muttered, keys clanking against the lock. He could hear Bisou’s collar jingling through the door and got a hearty welcome with two big paws on his chest when he stepped inside. 

“Hey girl,” he said, scratching behind one of her ears. “Your dad is being ridiculous as fuck.” 

Bisou barked her agreement. 

“Traitor.” 

She followed him to the kitchen for her expected meal. Jeff threw in some microwavable pizza for himself, poured a glass of wine, and loosened his tie. He hung his jacket over one of the kitchen bar stools and anxiously waited for Bisou to be through with her dinner so he could let her out back to do her business. 

By the time she was ready to come in, Jeff had the pizza on the kitchen island and was halfway through one glass of wine. He’d also quickly taken out his contacts, swapping them for the thick black-rimmed glasses he never wore to the office. He queued up his laptop and took a bite, settling in with his food and pouring himself another glass of wine while Bisou sat happily at his feet, chewing on one of her bones. 

He preferred to “talk” to Shopguy on his laptop. It was nicer than the small screen of his iPhone, and he felt like he could prepare his sentences better on the larger keyboard. 

Sure enough, there was a new email waiting for him, sent at 11:46 pm last night. Jeff felt a shiver run through him at the thought of Shopguy potentially writing him while in bed, stretched out in comfortable pajamas or even just -- 

Clearing his throat, Jeff shook his head, quickly cutting off that train of thought. “Like a fucking teenager, Jesus Christ.” 

Bisou looked up questionably. 

“Not you, me.” 

She snuffled and went back to her task. Just as well. 

Jeff opened the email, hating the way the simple clicking of a key made his stomach flip. 

_Dear J.D.,_

_(Have I mentioned that I love that you’ve started signing these things with J.D.? Makes it more personal in a way, doesn’t it? I know, I know, personal = bad, do not pass go, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless. I’ve been playing a silent game with myself trying to figure out what it could stand for. James Dean? :D? You a rebel without a cause, man? Or maybe you’re a huge Salinger fan and I never knew it? Or maybe you ARE Salinger, hence the anonymity. Don’t worry, Mr. Salinger, your secret is safe with me!)_

Jeff had to pause in reading to laugh heartily, head thrown back. He took another sip of wine, grin still stretched across his lips. In the past two months Jeff has laughed more at his computer or phone screen than he had in his everyday life in as long as he could remember. Shopguy matched his humor and wit toe for toe, and Jeff appreciated it greatly. He was also stupidly cute sometimes, and the last time Jeff thought another man was _cute_ was probably high school, back when he’d started to figure out he possibly liked the star quarterback as much as he liked the guy’s cheerleading girlfriend. 

It’d taken him a rather long time to act on those feelings. It wasn’t easy, given his upbringing and surroundings, especially his father’s no-nonsense approach to the family business, duty and honor. The man had died before Jeff could even come out to him, and to this day it was still his biggest regret in life, along with the disappointment on his mother’s face when he announced the end of his marriage. 

She’d taken that harder than Jeff’s eventual coming out to _her_. “I’m old, darling, I’ve seen and heard it all by this point,” was her response. Jeff had to wonder if maybe her response would have been different had he come out when he was a kid, or if perhaps he’d underestimated his parents. “I just want you to be happy, I don’t care who with,” she’d said while hugging him close. It was the last time Jeff could remember crying. 

His bisexuality hadn’t gotten all that much hands-on practice until the last five years or so, and even then, he’d only officially dated one man. It had crashed and burned as spectacularly as his romances with women, and Jeff had to at least commend himself for being consistent. 

More often than not, he’d end up at a local club when he had an itch that needed scratching. The first time he'd tried something like that, Jeff had been shocked by how easily he’d attracted interest. Feeling on the wrong side of 40 at the time, hair and beard greying, hips having spread a bit, it was certainly a boost to his ego. He’d found himself having some of the best sex of his life with men whose names he barely knew and who didn’t want to stick around in the light of day. It worked for him, was a hell of a lot easier than attempting conversation over breakfast or unintentionally insulting someone on a first date as he often did.

Yet apparently, even great anonymous sex could get old. Or maybe it was just Jeff who had gotten old. It’d been about six months since he’d hooked up with anyone. Originally he’d blamed it on the expansion of the new store and the monotony of the club scene, but once Shopguy came into his life, Jeff found himself wanting to just be on his couch, stretched out and relaxed and waiting for the next email, rather than out trying to pick up some hot young thing with a daddy complex. 

Jeff shook himself out of his thoughts and refocused on his email. 

_Anyway, hello :) By the time you read this it’s probably already Tuesday night, so I hope you had a great day (don’t call me out on recognizing your pattern of replying after work each day, man, I’m not a stalker, just observant)._

_I should have been asleep at least 40 minutes ago, but there’s something weighing on me and I can’t turn my brain off. Just work bullshit, but -- well, I can’t help but wonder if I’m just making all the wrong decisions lately. It’s funny, I recently told myself I wanted a distraction from -- well. From stuff. And now I’m regretting those words, because this isn’t the type of thing I really need right now. Sorry, I don’t mean to be that maudlin person on the internet at close to midnight on a Monday, what a cliché, right? Maybe I’m just not cut out for the world of business._

_Alright, I’ve thoroughly depressed myself, but hey, at least I waited until now instead of our earlier emails this evening, right? I’m excited to check out your movie rec this weekend. I’ve never seen Bringing Up Baby and a screwball comedy is just what I need right now._

_Think it’s time for me to sign off. Sorry again, J.D._

_Shopguy_

_P.S. I just wanted to say… I’ve really enjoyed conversing with you these past couple of months. Especially on a day like today, well. Is it sad to say this has been my highlight? So… thank you, friend._

Jeff stared at the screen, trying to unpack the words on the screen and how they made him feel. It was probably ridiculous that his first instinct had been an overwhelming feeling of protectiveness. To help Shopguy with whatever problem he was going through, to swoop in and make it right. Jeff was a fixer. It was why he climbed the ladder so high and so quickly, not just because he was his father’s son. If he’d been incompetent, they would’ve just stuck him in some corner office and made him CEO in name only, without any real responsibility, like what happened in tons of businesses when nepotism unfairly came into play. 

Jeff was never going to go for that, though. He made sure he was the top of his class in every course he took and insisted on working his way up from the bottom, in the planning and development stages all the way through to the corporate takeovers. He got down and dirty in the trenches and, yes, did some things that made people question his ethics and morality, but he’d grown his father’s company significantly since he’d passed away, and revenue had never been higher. 

But if there was one thing he’d learned about Shopguy, it was that he was as prideful as he was hardworking, and Jeff doubted he’d appreciate him trying to throw around his power and influence just to fix some sour business deal. Then there was the other thing: friend. The word filled him with both happiness and disappointment. Happy because he was glad Shopguy considered this more than a casual acquaintance or a way to pass the time on the internet. It was nice -- nicer than he’d liked to admit, actually -- to think of having another person he could put in the friend column, a place which didn’t have much company to begin with. 

Disappointing because, as much as he’d been trying to deny it, Jeff was falling for this man and falling hard. 

Scrubbing his hand over his face, he got up, taking his laptop and wine with him and leaving the pizza half-eaten on the counter. 

He fell onto the couch with a loud groan and hit the reply button, then stared at the empty window. Taking a deep breath and sorting through his feelings, he started typing. 

**To: Shopguy78@gmail.com**

_Dear Friend, (co-opting your sign-off there, don’t mind me)_

_I like the sound of that. I don’t have too many friends, to be honest. Is that weird? I’ve never been able to quantify something like that. I know the kids these days are all into their Facebook and Twitter followers, and there seems to be this age of popularity going around the past five years or so. Like your life is measured by how many people “like” your posts. I didn’t grow up in that world. We passed notes in class and listened to vinyl and smoked up in our parents basements. We talked on rotary phones and rode our bikes to each other’s houses with promises to be home before dark._

_When I think about being the age I am with the few friends I’ve actually retained, I often think of that line in It’s a Wonderful Life and contemplate if I’ve failed somehow. Is that really the measure of a successful life? If it is, well, I suppose I’m lacking there and quite a few people could line up and tell you the same._

_Here’s the thing, Shopguy: I’m not a very popular person. I’m kind of a big deal in my field and I’m -- respected, I’d say. Feared, to a degree, perhaps. But popularity is not my strong suit and I’m hated far more than I’m liked._

_I guess I’m telling you this because here you are, wanting to call me a friend, and I probably don’t deserve that. You seem like a decent, honest, hardworking guy, who strives every day for the greater good. My first thought when you told me your problems was what I could possibly do to make whoever is bothering you pay, until I quickly realized that was probably the last thing you’d want._

_I hope your business problems get better and I hope your day today was better than yesterday._

_And if, even after everything I just told you, you’d still like to call me friend -- well, that would be an honor._

_J.D._

_P.S. If it’s pathetic for this to be the highlight of your day, well, call me pathetic too because I feel the same way._

Jeff got up and poured himself another drink. He probably needed something stronger than wine at this point. Unwittingly, it was Mary-Louise’s voice he heard in his head. It said, “You sabotage every good thing in your life, Jeff. And you think you’re somehow better off because of it. Newsflash: that doesn’t make you a martyr, it just makes you lonely.” 

That had been the death rattle of their relationship, a parting shot that was all too honest and everything Jeff hadn’t wanted to hear at the time, vehemently denying it all. As the years went on, he’d thought of those words quite a few times, uncomfortable in their accuracy. 

When he made his way back over to the couch, flipping on the TV and settling on some dumb sitcom, too lazy to turn on his DVD player, there was already a new email waiting for him. 

Heart in his throat, he opened it. 

_Dear Friend,_

_Sooo… are you supposed to be Mr. Potter in this situation or something? Because sorry, J.D., but you don’t seem to me like some evil old man in a wheelchair who’s attempting to buy all of Bedford Falls and turn it into Pottersville. I may not have known you very long or even all that well, but I like to think I’m a pretty good judge of character and the only thing I can say in response to all that is: if you don’t have too many friends, perhaps that’s because you prefer it that way?_

_I’m not very good at giving life advice, so I hope that didn’t come off as rude. Just… you seem like a good guy, J.D. And you’re not getting rid of me that easily._

_Shopguy_

_P.S. re: your “make whoever pay” comment -- you don’t work for the mob, right? Please say you don’t work for the mob._

_P.P.S. I’m glad we’re pathetic together, then._

Jeff closed his laptop, needing a breather. Shopguy’s words hit too close to the vest. All of them, aside from his mob comment, which at least made him laugh. Because, yes, he really was Mr. Potter. He thought about _Emily’s_ and the other shops on the block, thought about people losing their jobs and their livelihood. Thought about Shopguy assuming that couldn’t possibly be Jeff in any way, shape or form. 

And then the guy psychoanalyzed him as good as his ex-wife, scarily echoing his own prior thoughts. 

Normally, Jeff would spend the rest of his evening until bed trading emails back and forth with Shopguy, but tonight he found he needed to take a break. Needed to get his head back in the game, focus on what was right for business, what was good for Morgan Books and the board, and not think about what Shopguy might think about him if he knew the truth. 

He’d sleep it off, and tomorrow he’d be as good as new. 

Emily’s Old-Fashioned Books and its owner didn’t stand a chance.

___________________________


	3. Chapter 3

Jensen was in a shitty mood. There was a missing pallet of books that hadn’t come on the truck this morning, he spilled coffee on his shirt while trying to simultaneously drink and cross the street and had to throw on the sweater he kept in the shop when it got cold (which was a shade too tight now), Danneel was gonna be in late because she had to take her cat to the vet, he’d probably insulted his online crush, and oh yeah, he was in danger of losing his store. 

The only person he’d told about the call he’d received from the lawyers who represented Morgan Books was Danneel, and even then it was only because she’d answered the phone to the shop and forced it out of him. They’d ended up closing early for lunch and eating ice cream right out of the carton. Jensen didn’t even know where to begin when bringing it up to anyone else. 

It was a decent amount of money, what they were offering. Jensen had bought the building that housed _Emily’s_ after the first year of his lease, at the advice of some of his fellow shop owners (who were now getting the same offers from Morgan). He had the capital and was informed corporate lease values were at a low at the time, so the time to buy was right. It would also allow him to build equity. 

Of course, the value of the building was currently depreciated (which Jensen was well aware of, seeing as he could write it off on his taxes), so he wouldn’t get exactly what he’d originally bought the building for. But the offer he’d received was actually more than what the building was currently _worth_ , apparently to sweeten the pot. 

Jensen wasn’t surprised that a big-shot company like Morgan Books had buckets of money to throw around. He didn’t know all that much about them, except that they were the first big book chain to exist and that the family came from money to begin with. Jensen had never even been in one, raised on independents and loyal ever since. Even with the changing bookstore economy, the Morgans would always be fine, would always have more money than Jensen would make in his whole life. 

If he did sell, at least he wouldn’t have to deal with property taxes anymore and would also be able to make a more than just a dent on his student loans, start fresh. But he’d also be losing the thing most important to him in this world, despite its yearly challenges, and be putting his employees out of their jobs. 

Jensen hadn’t even needed to make a list of pros and cons, had simply turned them down flat on the phone, but he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. He also wasn’t stupid, thinking his refusal would be the end of this. A huge powerhouse like Morgan Books didn’t just throw up its hands in surrender. 

And on top of all that, he’d stuck his foot in his mouth with J.D. last night. He’d checked his email on his phone every five minutes since this morning, despite it being atypical for J.D. to write during the day. He’d stopped himself from sending another email at least five times. 

“Ridiculous,” he mumbled, “you’re ridiculous.” 

On top of it, he hadn’t had one customer yet today, and it was already 11:30. When the bell finally rang, Jensen had his back to the door. 

“Oh good, thank --” he started to say, assuming it was Danneel, who’d texted not too long ago to say she was on her way. 

It wasn’t. 

The guy was tall, taller than Jensen, wearing a long-sleeved navy blue shirt and dark jeans. His hair matched his beard, salt and pepper and neatly trimmed. He had one eyebrow raised at Jensen’s words, and Jensen felt his cheeks heat. 

“-- youuu for coming in!” Jensen saved himself, albeit barely. “Welcome to _Emily’s_ , holler if you need anything.” 

“Thank you,” the man said, staring at Jensen and swallowing hard before turning away. His voice was deep and gravely, and Jensen instantly liked the sound of it. 

Jensen snuck glances at the guy as he walked around the shop like he was committing its layout to memory. It’d been a while since Jensen had been hit with such an instant jolt of lust just at the sight of another guy, but damn. This dude’s everything really hit all of Jensen’s buttons. He found his mind wandering to J.D. and wondering, not for the first time, what the other man looked like. He felt himself flush when the customer’s eyes met his over one of the shelves. 

“Nice place you got here,” he offered, and Jensen found himself flushing even more. 

“Thanks. We don’t get too many newbies, if I’m being honest.” 

The guy raised his brow again. “Really. And you do well, with a built-in customer base?” 

Jensen laughed ruefully. “ _Well_ is subjective. We do alright. The customers we do have are pretty loyal, and sometimes they’ll bring along family and friends. Word of mouth is our livelihood.” 

The guy hummed, flipping through the pages of a book that Jensen couldn’t see from there. “How about advertising?” 

Jensen shook his head. “Too expensive, and I’ve found from past experience it doesn’t give you the bang for your buck. Sometimes I’ll put up flyers in the bakery of the coffee shop a block over when we’ve got a reading or a children’s event.” 

The man nodded distractedly and made his way toward the back of the shop where the children’s books were. It was Jensen’s favorite part of the store, the area he took painstaking efforts in curating and making sure there was enough space for both events and kids who wanted to stretch out on the floor with books or puzzles and games, just like when he was a kid. 

“We’ve got some great collector’s editions, if you wanna get your kid a book or something,” Jensen found himself saying, and then winced. 

_Smooth, real smooth._. The voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Jared, and Jensen rolled his eyes at himself. 

Tall, Dark, and Too Handsome looked back over his shoulder at Jensen, shark-like grin on his face. “Thanks, but no kids to speak of.” 

That shouldn’t make him as happy as it did, and he once again spared a thought for J.D. Whatever, he could find a random guy in his store hot. 

“Nieces or nephews?” 

The guy hummed vaguely, picking up various items, checking the price tags, placing them down again. “Uh, yeah. Got a niece.” He was holding an annotated copy of Sleeping Beauty in his hand. Jensen loved the art in that edition. 

“She’d probably like that,” he said, and nodded.

“Little pricey,” the guy said, voice flat. 

Jensen tried not to wince. He wasn’t a stranger to this, sadly. “Worth it for the art alone,” he said, nodding at the cover. “The illustrations are hand-tipped.”

The guy turned the book over in his hand. “You know you could probably find this at least 5 dollars cheaper at M-- uh, somewhere else. Even online. Amazon’s pretty tough to compete with these days.”

The guy spoke like a true businessman, which seemed in contrast to his laid-back dress and casual demeanor, strolling around a bookstore at 11:30 a.m. midweek, like the hustle and bustle of 9-to-5 life didn’t touch him. Jensen almost envied him. 

“True, but you don’t have a set-up like this in Amazon because it’s not a brick-and-mortar,” he said, waving his hand around them at the children’s section, its colorful chairs, low table, and stack of jigsaw puzzles and coloring books. “And even huge stores like Morgan Books are all about the quantity of what they can pack into their stores, and their lattes and DVDs. Families come here with their kids, and parents read to their children and fall in love with the experience of the place, not the item itself, you know? The value of a store is much more than its physical stock.” 

The man was staring at Jensen intently, something akin to wonder on his face, and Jensen felt swallowed whole by those eyes. “I--” the guy started and then cut off when the bell over the door rang. 

“Sorry, sorry, you wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve --” Danneel trailed off when Jensen and the customer came into view, her eyes narrowed. 

“Snake!” she shouted, pointing at the guy. 

Jensen looked at her in shock. “Dani, what--” 

Danneel shook her head and stepped in between them, forcing Jensen to back up. “Jen, you wanna tell me what the Big Bad Wolf from Morgan Books is doing in your store?” 

“They don’t really still call me that, do they,” Jensen heard the guy say, faintly.

“Dani, what are you talking about?” 

“Jesus, Jensen, do you ever watch the local news at all? _This_ is the man who’s trying to put us out of business. Jeffrey Morgan!” 

Jensen looked from Dani to -- Jeffrey, he supposed -- until the pieces started to fall into place. “Oh my god,” he said, voice a near whisper. “You’re Jeffrey Morgan? As in CEO of Morgan Books, Jeffrey Morgan?” 

The guy at least had the decency to look chagrined. “Guilty as charged,” he said, hands raised, one of them still holding the book.

Jensen grabbed it from his loose grip and held it to protectively to his chest. “So this was, what? Some reconnaissance mission?” 

Morgan laughed. It wasn’t a very nice sound. “You make me sound like James Bond.”

“You wish, dude,” Danneel said, arms folded as she glared at Morgan. 

Morgan sighed and stepped around Danneel. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I was actually about to--” 

“Yeah, I know what you were about to do. Strong arm me into taking your payoff.” 

Morgan flashed him an unreadable look. “Right, of course,” he said flatly, sounding tired. “Look, Mr. Ackles. I’m well aware my lawyers have reached out to you. You and both know that it's in your best interest to accept their offer so my people can move forward with the next phase of development.” 

“Your people,” Danneel scoffed, at the same time that Jensen said, “Next phase of development, meaning the _demolition_ of my shop.” 

Morgan sighed again, pinching his nose. “You’ll earn a pretty penny for your sacrifice, Mr. Ackles. You can open a new _Emily’s_ somewhere else, perhaps drop the ‘old-fashioned’ and call it ‘modern.’” 

“Don’t patronize me.” Jensen stormed past him and back behind the counter, placing the book down. “And we both know I’d have to relocate a lot further away and take the depreciation loss on this place, just to stay in business against you.” 

“Most likely,” Morgan agreed, like that wasn’t a fucking issue. Like Jensen could afford starting from scratch with a new building, or even worse, having to move cities to be closer to a new shop because the commute was too expensive. No, a guy like Morgan probably just threw his money around without even counting it. Jensen wanted to say all of these words in an angry tirade, but his tongue suddenly stopped working. 

Morgan followed him to the register, nodding at the book. “You gonna let me buy that?” 

Jensen scoffed. “I wouldn’t sell it to you now if you begged me.” 

Their eyes met and God damn it, the guy might be Evil Incarnate, but that didn’t mean he was any less hot now then when he’d walked in. Jensen swore he saw Morgan’s pupils dilate at his words before he quickly looked away, clearing his throat. 

“Yes, well.” He pulled out his wallet. “Here’s my business card,” Morgan said, placing it on the countertop. “I do hope you’ll come to your senses. You run a cute store, Mr. Ackles, but you can’t compete with the ever-changing climate. Good afternoon.” 

Jensen gaped after him as he left, the bell sounding as obnoxious as Morgan’s parting words had been. 

“And the ever-changing climate can barely keep up with your pompous, self-righteous attitude,” Jensen muttered. “Ugh, I should’ve said that.”

“You never say anything when you’ve got the chance, dollface,” Danneel replied, voice sympathetic as she came to stand beside him. 

“Ain’t that the truth. God, what an asshole.”

“Yeah. Too bad he’s gotta be so scorching.” 

Jensen groaned, dropping his head onto the counter. “You caught that too, huh?” 

“Would be pretty damn hard to miss. And he was looking at you like you were a steak when I first walked in.” 

Jensen lifted his head and squinted at her. “Shut up…”

Danneel propped herself up on the counter, legs swinging. “Seriously, babe.” 

“Whatever,” Jensen mumbled. “Not like it matters. He’s the Big Bad Wolf, like you said. If anything looks like a steak to him, it's this store, and he just can’t wait to sink his teeth into it.”

And just when Jensen had thought this day couldn’t get any worse, too. 

His only high point was the unexpected email he got from J.D. an hour later. 

_Dear Friend,_

_I should apologize for disappearing on you last night. You said some things I didn’t realize I’d needed to hear. Thank you for that. I only wish I could be as convinced by your image as me. I just came from a rather impromptu business meeting and, while I didn’t waver, I found myself wanting to at one point. The client reminded me of your ideology in a way. Suffice to say I definitely did not Make Friends or Influence People today. Anyway, I found myself needing to email you afterward. I’ve never thought myself as separate from my work persona but -- when I speak with you, and think about the way you see me, it makes me think perhaps it's possible. Of course, I’m probably just attempting to justify my actions but hey, it sounds good, right?_

_I hope your day is going well._

_J.D._

Jensen found himself smiling widely after he was done reading, and then skimming the email again. He wasn’t sure why, but J.D.’s email was exactly what he needed right now. The guy definitely had some hangups in the way he viewed himself, but Jensen liked what he’d been privy to see. He hadn’t connected with someone in this way since he and Jared stopped screwing long enough to get to know each other, instantly clicking like they’d known one another all their lives. This felt similar to that, but with the undercurrent of something else -- something dark and exciting, like they were building to something here. What, Jensen didn’t know. But damn if he didn’t want to find out.

Wrapped up in thoughts of J.D. once more, he actually managed to forget about Jeffrey Morgan and his snobby book empire, at least for a little while. 

Jensen didn’t get a chance to email J.D. back until almost closing time, the afternoon picking up with some customers and then being busy with the Wednesday Afternoon Fairytale Hour. 

His frustration over the morning’s events had come back tenfold by then, and Jensen wanted so badly to tell J.D. all about it, every little detail, except that wasn’t how they worked. So instead he dropped some vague comments about a difficult encounter he’d had today and how he wished he could’ve done a few things differently. 

J.D. listened and offered to distract Jensen with an impromptu game of movie trivia. He spent the rest of the evening at home trading multiple emails with J.D. while drinking beer and watching the basketball game. 

And then, out of nowhere, he got a gchat message. 

**Bookman66** : _We’ve been sitting here all night online together, emailing, that I felt this might be easier. Am I overstepping?_

Jensen smiled even as nerves formed in his stomach. 

**Shopguy78** : _No, not at all. Thank you -- for all of this tonight._

**Bookman66** : _*shrug* least I could do. Seemed like you needed it. I help at all?_

**Shopguy78** : _You have. I just wish I could stay in this world of make believe with you and not face my problems tomorrow._

**Bookman66** : _Can I help with that at all?_

Jensen snorted to himself, downing the rest of his beer and shifting his laptop more firmly onto his thighs. 

**Shopguy78** : _Not unless you have the power to turn back time so I could really give today’s customer a piece of my mind_

**Bookman66** : _Ahh. I’ll tell you a little secret: most of the time, when you do say the exact thing you want to, get that zinger in there, be cutting or cold, remorse inevitably follows._

Jensen sighed. “Yeah, yeah.” 

**Shopguy78** : _Would be nice though. To push someone else around for once, instead of always being the underdog._

**Bookman66** : _feel free to tell me to shut up, but I feel like this is bigger than one rude customer. It’s still business, like you mentioned the other day, yes? Let me help? Being a good business man is kind of my thing._

**Shopguy78** : _Yes, it is. I’m in some trouble, here, and don’t know what to do. But no specifics, remember? Your rules, buddy_.

**Bookman66** : _Okay, okay. Minus specifics makes this a little hard, so there’s really only one piece of advice I’ve got: go to the mattresses._

Jensen found himself cracking up. 

**Shopguy78** : _The Godfather? Really, J.D.? That’s your expert advice?_

**Bookman66** : _Hey now. Little known fact: every problem you have can be solved through The Godfather. Go to war, Shopguy. Remember: it’s not personal, it’s business. Recite that to yourself. Make it your motto. Hell, it’s how I sleep at night. I believe in you. You can do this._

Jensen studied the words, started to feel the smallest ounce of hope flutter in his chest. 

**Shopguy78** : _Yeah? You really mean all that?_

**Bookman66** : _Of course I do! Now give ‘em hell._

Jensen was smiling hard by the time they’d said goodnight to one another (which felt so much more different doing so in real time). He was also kind of tipsy and vaguely turned on. 

Lying in bed, he closed his eyes and thought of J.D., or well, the non-specific image of J.D. his brain always provided whenever they emailed. Tonight, though, lying here and considering touching himself for the first time while thinking of the other man, he was rather horrified when his mind drifted to Jeffrey Morgan, conjuring up an image of him from the shop today in vivid technicolor. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jensen muttered in disgust, pulling his hand from around his dick like it’d been burned. 

Now he couldn’t even jerk off in peace without this guy fucking it up. 

Jensen flopped onto his side and punched his pillow. 

Sleep was a long time coming.

___________________________


	4. Chapter 4

Jeff awoke feeling refreshed and in a pretty darn good mood. Whatever tension that had been lingering between him and Shopguy had dissipated last night during a rapid succession of emails and then their first ever chat session, which had Jeff grinning wide and feeling no pain. Sure, in the light of day his problems still existed, and the thorn in his side named Ackles was a rather sizable one, but it was difficult to care too much when the birds were chirping, the sun was actually shining, and Shopguy existed in the world. 

Jeff got into the shower before he started composing a fucking song or something, his mind wandering to yesterday, smile still in place until he started thinking about Ackles again. Jeff certainly wasn’t expecting -- well, _that_ to be the owner of _Emily’s_. His breath had caught in his chest the moment the man turned around, hitting Jeff with the most startling green eyes he’d ever seen and looks that belonged on the cover of G.Q. rather than hidden away in the dusty corner of a bookstore. 

It was hard to keep his eyes off him after that while he attempted to do his job of scoping the place out, cataloging all its weaknesses and strengths. The guy was gorgeous as hell, wearing a soft-looking grey sweater that clung to him in all the right places (good lord, those arms), making Jeff want to bury his nose against it, feel it graze across his cheek. Jeff’s libido had inconveniently interfered with the task at hand, and he’d almost been sorry he’d have to put this Adonis out of business.

Then Ackles had to go ahead and talk to Jeff with his stupid idealism, optimism, and too-high prices, and the feeling had intensified. He hated the moment of weakness he’d felt, hated that Ackles had him remembering his own time spent in bookstores as a kid, except it was never anything like what Jensen had going on here. No, Jeff got to hang out in the back room at _Morgan_ , while his dad told him to sit still and stay out of trouble. 

There was never much attention put into the children’s section of the stores. It wasn’t an area for kids to convene, but a practical place for adults to find what they were looking for. Jeff had never considered changing it, making it something more —homey. Until now. 

He’d been glad for the distraction of Jensen’s coworker, it kept him grounded. He’d have preferred the jig not to have been up so quickly, would have loved to bask in Jensen’s everything for a few moments longer, but it was probably for the best. Now Jensen Ackles, too-pretty store owner, hated Jeff just like most people did. It was par for the course. If Jeff had wished they’d met under different circumstances, maybe at a club where Jeff could have bought the other man a drink, flirted with him, gotten a chance to see how far down his freckles extended — well. That was neither here nor there. Plus, there was Shopguy. Jeff couldn’t deny his feelings there, even if the other man was blissfully unaware.

Sighing, he ran the soap down his body and was unsurprised to find himself half-hard, reluctant to admit just how much of that had to do with a certain pissed-off bookstore owner. 

Jeff bit his lip and wrapped his hand around his dick, trying to think about nothing at all. It’d been far too long since he’d even taken care of himself this way, and he was suddenly aching for it, hand flying over his dick, the other still holding the soap and rubbing slowly over one nipple and then the other. Eyes closed under the steady stream of water, he imagined a hot pair of lips around his dick, working him over so well, full and pink and — he wanted to know what Shopguy looked like, wanted to know what color his hair was, his eyes, if he was tall, short, if he’d look amazing on his knees. Unable to come up with a picture, he unwittingly thought of Ackles, gorgeous mouth twisted in a frown directed at Jeff. He came on a surprised gasp, completely unprepared by the suddenness and force of his orgasm. 

“Jesus Christ.” Jeff’s voice was shaking as hard has his body as he fell forward, resting his head on the slick tile and still jacking himself slowly, shivering with every pull and aftershock. “Fuck.”

He stood under the spray for another five minutes until the water had turned mostly cold, willing his brain to forget this ever happened.  
___________________

By lunchtime, Jeff still hadn’t heard from Jensen Ackles, even though he ultimately was not surprised. 

“You’re totally surprised,” Mary-Louise countered, when he caught her and Aldis up on the latest developments, or lack thereof, in their afternoon meeting. “You turn on the charm and expect people to fall down at your feet.” 

“I do not,” Jeff scowled. 

“You do, man,” Aldis said. “It’s alright, I mean. They usually do.” 

“Yes, well. We can wait this out for a little while and then it’s no more Mr. Nice Guy.” 

Mary-Louise laughed. “And that’s you in this analogy?” 

“You can go now!” 

She winked at him and walked out. Aldis began to follow her, but Jeff stopped him. “Stay for a minute, please.” 

“‘Sup, boss?”

“Shut the door.” 

Aldis raised an eyebrow but did so before leaning back on it. 

“So… um. You’ve done the online thing before, right? Didn’t you meet your last girlfriend on Match.com or something?” 

Aldis’ face morphed from vague concern to utter delight in seconds flat. “My, my, is the Big Bad Jeffrey Morgan in love?” 

“No!” Jeff says quickly. “No, I’m not -- I’ve been talking to someone. Online. And I don’t -- it’s never been in the context of a dating situation and I’m wondering how I might -- introduce… that.” 

“Hmm. Well, here’s a wild and crazy idea...” 

Jeff’s eyes narrowed. “Yes?” 

“You ever try just asking her?” 

Jeff sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was now or never. “It’s not a her. And I have no idea if he likes men, much less me.” 

Surprise flitted over Aldis’ face for a second before he was back to grinning. “Man, you are an enigma, you know that?”  
_________________________

“How come you never told me before?” Aldis asked while they were at the gym, running on the treadmill side by side. 

“It never came up? I’m not ashamed or anything, but I’m also a pretty private person, you know.” 

“I know. Well, thanks, man. Now we just gotta get you together with your man.” 

Jeff groaned, blowing out a breath. “He’s not my man.”

“You want him to be, though.” 

Jeff ignored him. 

“You gotta drop some hints, you know? Let him know for sure you like guys as much as girls. Flirt a little.” 

Jeff groaned again. “I feel like I’m back in high school.” 

Aldis laughed. “Newsflash, my man. The internet ain’t much different than that.” 

Jeff was about to respond when a local news report on the screen of his treadmill caught his eye. “Holy shit.” 

“What?” 

“Turn up the volume on your screen!” Jeff said, eyes wide as he did the same. Sure enough, there was a reporter with Jensen Ackles, on the street in front of _Emily’s_. 

“We’re here with local business owner Jensen Ackles who gave us the inside scoop on a Morgan Books takeover that is happening in this very neighborhood. Ackles's store Emily’s Old-Fashioned Books is just one of three buildings in this beloved section of town that CEO Jeffrey Morgan is attempting to buy so he may re-commission one large building for his superstore. While situations such as this are not uncommon, Mr. Ackles has something to say about it.”

Ackles looked nervous as hell, a strained smile on his face. “Thank you, Cynthia. Those of you in the neighborhood know this strip of block well. It’s all about the small stores, the ones that have been staples in this community going on 50 years. And while mine is far from that old, it’s nestled between landmarks you know well and has kept with the quaint, independent theme that this block has always had. A Morgan Books superstore would not only disrupt the neighborhood with its loud bulldozers and early morning construction, but by its overall presence once built. This block does not need a _Morgan_ ’s. What it needs is an _Emily’s_ , and a Nate’s Barber Shop, and The Loaf. If you feel the same as we do, we ask that you come on down to our shops this Saturday for a block party from 12 to 3 and show your support. There will be food, beverages, and various store discounts. Thank you.”

Jeff had stopped running while watching, too stunned to even move. 

“Well, damn,” Aldis breathed. “He’s a firecracker, huh?” 

“I’ll say,” Jeff replied, mouth suddenly dry. 

Aldis was staring at him when he looked over with a smirk on his face. “I think you like that about him.” 

Jeff sputtered. “ _Like_ that? Please, Aldis, don’t attempt to guess my taste in men after only just finding out my interest in them. And for your information, there is _nothing_ about Ackles that I like. He’s a pill.” 

Aldis hummed. “You like ballsy moves. You like confidence and competence. Face it, this is something _you_ would have done, if you had to.” 

“Be that as it may, I _don’t_ have to, and he’s playing with fire.” 

“Firecracker,” Aldis singsonged. 

Jeff flipped him off and tried not to think about how fucking good Ackles looked on TV just now, with those too-green eyes and that reddish-blonde scruff. “Whatever. He couldn’t even get a primetime segment. Sucker.” 

The wheels were already turning in Jeff’s head as he contemplated his countermove. 

Two could play at this game.

___________________________


	5. Chapter 5

It was easier than Jensen expected, taking J.D.’s advice. He’d told Jared what was going on with Jeffrey Morgan, who suggested he should take this thing to the masses, remembering an old professor from his undergrad Film/Video course. So Jared had called in a favor to Eric, who now worked as a director and content editor for the local news station, and was able to get Jensen a two-minute spot in the local business portion of the afternoon broadcast.

It had been nerve-wracking and intimidating, being on TV, but also exhilarating. Better yet, the anchor was interested enough in Jensen’s plight that she was going to interview Nate from the barbershop and Joan and Bill from the bakery tomorrow. The owners of those stores were basically ready to sell and start their retirement a few years early, but they hadn’t officially signed the papers yet and agreed they’d stay if Morgan was pressured enough by the negative publicity to back down and decide to build elsewhere.

By late afternoon that day, business had already picked up, and Jared had come by suggesting they make protest signs for the block party.

“It'll be great. A real cause! Something to fight for!” Jared’s neck-length hair flopped around as he happily bounced on the balls of his feet like the overgrown puppy he was. He was wearing his workout clothes, which meant he’d just come from a personal training session. Jensen really couldn’t keep up with Jared’s million different jobs and causes, but the guy did have ambition, Jensen had to give him that, even if his focus tended to always be in ten different directions at once.

Jensen laughed, unable to contain his fondness “You do have many causes, Jay. Hey, how’s the anti-bullying thing going, by the way?”

“Awesome! Me and Gen had a huge turnout last weekend, sucks you couldn’t make it.”

Jensen winced. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve just been busy with --”

“Bookman66,” Jared finished for him.

“And _business_ , mostly,” Jensen scowled. “Trust me, this hasn’t been fun.”

Jared’s eyes softened. “Sorry, man. But I think you’re doing great, and the block party was a good idea. You’ll get them to back down, you’ll see.”

Jensen sighed. “I hope you’re right.”

Jared clapped him on the shoulder. “I always am.” He grinned. “Now, tell me about your fake boyfriend.”

Jensen sighed. “I dunno, man. We finally talked on chat and I loved it. I don’t know how to move things forward, though.”

“Sleep with him,” Jared said decidedly.

“Jay, I just said --”

“No, I mean cybersex. Best way to ‘move things forward.’”

“Not this again.” Jensen rubbed his hands over his face. “Yeah, sure, I’ll get right on that. Let’s forget the fact that I don’t even know if he _like_ -likes me.”

Jared laughed. “Baby, he absolutely like-likes you. Just fuck him already.”

Jensen immediately rescinded any prior thoughts of fondness. He had the worst friends.  
__________________________________

Of course, between Jared’s words and Jensen having nearly jerked off to thoughts of J.D. the other night, Jensen couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He also couldn’t seem to stop running into Jeffrey Friggin’ Morgan all of sudden. He’d been going to tons of different stores, trying to prepare for the weekend’s block party. He wanted to buy some flowers and plants to spruce the store up some, get some hors d’oeuvres, a few balloons. It had taken him to some stores in areas he didn’t normally frequent, and sure enough, they seemed to be the ones _Morgan_ did. Jensen was able to hide between bouquets of flowers in front of the flower shop when Morgan had passed by, walking into a Starbucks.

Then, when walking down the street carrying a bunch of balloons, Jensen had to duck into an alleyway, lest he be seen by Morgan who was walking into some swanky restaurant with a tall woman and a few stone-faced men, all dressed in business suits.

But it was at Whole Foods that Jensen couldn’t dodge him any longer, turning a corner and finding the other man perusing the cheeses, which was exactly the area Jensen needed.

Well, he’d be damned if he was going to hide down an aisle until Morgan left. It was his cheese section too, dammit.

Jensen walked up, steadfastly looking straight ahead.

“Well, if it isn’t the little bookstore that could.”

Jensen rolled his eyes and focused on the platters in front of him, wondering which would be best for his money. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Morgan hummed. “Sure had a lot to say to Channel 12. But don’t worry, a profile on Morgan Book will be airing on 60 Minutes this weekend. That’s nationally syndicated, in case you were wondering.”

Jensen turned and gaped at him. “You’re joking.”

“I never joke about business. And you kind of backed me into a corner with your little publicity stunt.”

Jensen waved the block of manchego he was holding in his hand at Morgan like a weapon. “You -- you --”

Morgan smiled, faux-sweet. “Tongue-tied? How cute.” He brushed past Jensen, stopping at his ear and whispering, “Good luck with your meager gathering this weekend, Mr. Ackles. You’ll need it.”

Jensen hated himself for the shiver that ran through him. Or the fact that he’d just noticed that Morgan was wearing glasses and they made him look stupidly attractive, as if he wasn't _already_ attractive enough.

“Asshole,” Jensen muttered to himself, clearly needing the reminder. “Attractive _asshole_.” He ignored the raised eyebrow from a woman next to him and picked out the rest of his items in a fury. He didn’t notice he’d gotten on the cash only line until all of his groceries were already bagged and it was time to pay.

“I’m sorry. I -- I didn’t realize. I’ve only got a dollar on me.” The long line behind him began to grumble, and the cashier wasn’t too happy either.

“You gotta get on another line,” he said, unimpressed.

Jensen sighed. He was already late meeting Jared and Danneel to start making the signs for tomorrow. He looked around him; all the other lines were extremely long. And of course, there was Morgan on the one directly beside him, already paying.

Jensen leaned forward, whispering, trying to avoid making even more of a scene. “Look, if you could just make an exception this one --”

“Nope,” the guy said, disinterested.

“Get on another line, buddy!” someone yelled.

Jensen winced and began gathering up one of the bags to do just that when suddenly Morgan was beside him.

“Devon, is that your name? That’s a great name,” said Morgan, turning a 500 watt smile on the cashier. “Listen, Devon, this thing you’ve got right here is a credit card machine,” he said, spinning the portable device around on its stand. “How about you just -- let the man swipe his card, huh?”

“How about no?”

Morgan tsked, leaning in closer. “Now, Devon, come on. Do you really care that much about store policy? Aren’t rules meant to be broken? Cut the guy some slack and let him run the card, huh? Zip, zip,” he said, making a motion with his hand like he was swiping a card through the machine.

Morgan’s voice was smooth like butter yet with a deep, delicious rumble to boot, and God, if that was the way he conducted business deals, it was no wonder independent shops were dying left and right.

Devon looked a little flustered under Morgan’s attention, and Jensen clamped down an inconvenient wave of jealousy.

“Alright,” he said, ducking his head shyly.

“Thanks, Devon. That really is a great name.”

Jensen apologized again to everyone, all of whom were still unimpressed by him.

As he was walking out, Morgan was still there in front of the store, looking down at his phone.

“Uh, thanks,” Jensen said, shifting his weight awkwardly.

Morgan looked up and regarded him for a moment. Jensen felt pulled under by those eyes again, the way the glasses made them look even bigger somehow, brighter. The hairs on his arms were standing up, and he tried to suppress the shiver that ran through his body. “Don’t mention it. Good luck tomorrow.” Then he nodded at Jensen and walked off.

He sounded sincere, was the thing, and Jensen was left standing there and staring after Morgan, feeling like he had a sudden case of whiplash as he attempted to connect the man from the cheese section with the man from the checkout line.

Jensen spent the rest of the evening still thinking about it while trying to come up with witty sign slogans with his friends.

Later, when they were finally done and far too tipsy, they began talking about J.D.

“C’mon, man,” Jared said from his spot on the floor, long limbs taking up the whole friggin’ middle of Jensen’s living room. “There’s gotta be a way to at least make him know you’re gay.”

“Oh, oh, I know!” Danneel exclaimed from where she was hanging off the edge of the couch, upside down. “Hi, I’m gay.”

“You’re both drunk,” Jensen groaned, opening up the messageboard area of the book club’s website. His eyes caught on a topic and a lightbulb went off in his head. “Think I got something, guys.”

They became his cheerleading section as Jensen responded to the question “name your favorite book from any genre of your choice”. He chose LGBTQ literature and _The Front Runner._

Jared high-fived him and Danneel hugged him as they headed off. Jensen cleaned up the popcorn and empty wine bottles off the floor and settled in, obsessively checking to see if J.D. had commented on his thread response.

An hour later, he did, and Jensen’s heart skipped as he read the reply.

_A classic in the genre, pioneer effort given the time it was written, even if it was by a woman. Do you remember the rumors back in the 90s about the talk of a movie adaptation? Or were you just a baby back then? ;-P_

It was definitely encouraging. Jensen doubted all that many straight dudes paid attention to what was going on in the gay film and lit world.

Smiling, he clicked on J.D’s comment to reply.

_Wasn’t a baby, jerk, and yeah I do. I had been stupidly excited, thinking about that kind of representation, right when I needed it the most as a gay teen. Sad it never happened, but glad things like “Brokeback” exist. I love my LGBTQ indies as much as the next person, but mainstream visibility only helps that much more in getting these types of things made. Maybe one day it’ll still happen._

He let out a breath and hit send. J.D’s reply was a lot faster this time.

_I was a BIT older than that back then. Probably why I always identified more with Harlen, but yes, I completely agree._

_I’m glad we talked about this, Shopguy._

Jensen read that last sentence with the weight he felt was intended and his stomach fluttered, belly tightening.

 _Me too :)_ he replied, and then put his laptop aside and unzipped his jeans, not even bothering to stop himself from palming his dick, biting his bottom lip, and stroking himself to thoughts of _J.D., J.D., J.D._

“Oh, god,” Jensen breathed when he finally came, hard and gasping. “Fuck.”

He slept really fucking well that night, and was refreshed and ready to go when morning arrived.  
_________________________

Despite starting the day with a spring in his step, spurred on by J.D.’s everything, Jensen was exhausted by the time he got home from work that night. He couldn’t exactly complain, though. The block party had been a huge success. Everyone loved the food Jensen and the other shop owners had picked up, and there was music, raffles, and marching in unison with the signs they’d made to some of Jared’s catchy cheers. It was the best day they’d had saleswise in a really long time, and Jensen could only hope that word of mouth spread and business picked up, because part of him was wondering if it might not just be better to fold and move on.

The other part of him, the part that sounded like J.D., who wanted him to “fight to the death”, knew that that line of thinking was exactly what Morgan and his cronies were hoping for. Logically, he knew they couldn’t do anything without Jensen’s approval (unless they sneakily tried to force his hand, which Jensen still didn’t put past them), but the seed of doubt had already been planted in his head, and despite today’s success, Jensen had to wonder just how much it was all worth in the long run.

It was only 9, but Jensen was beat and decided to change into his pajama bottoms and relax in bed. He grabbed his laptop and booted it up, happy to see the green dot lit up beside J.D’s name when he signed into gmail, indicating he was online. Hoping his presence was welcome, Jensen opened the chat window.

 **Shopguy78** : _Hey! Hope I’m not bothering you. Just got home and wanted to let you know it was a pretty successful day. Thanks again for your help :)_

 **Bookman66** : _Hi there. Not at all, I’m happy to hear that. I hope it’ll help solve some of your problems?_

Jensen smiled and stretched out his toes.

 **Shopguy78** : _That remains to be seen but in any event it couldn’t have hurt._

 **Bookman66** : _That’s great. I’m glad._

Jensen wasn’t exactly sure why, but he had a gut feeling something was bothering J.D. tonight. Something just felt -- off.

 **Shopguy78** : _What’s wrong? (isn’t it weird how you can hear ‘tone’ in the most innocuous of sentences. There was definitely a tone there, man.)_

 **Bookman66** : _Ha. Yeah, I’m just -- rather stressed over a work development. It’s alright, it’ll resolve like all things._

Jenen frowned, wishing he could help J.D. in some way, like the way J.D. had helped him.

 **Shopguy78** : _What you need, my friend, is a massage._ Jensen found himself typing in horror. He didn’t delete it though.

 **Bookman66** : _Ha. Yeah, if only i had the time._

 **Shopguy78** : _Got time to talk to me._

 **Bookman66** : _Yes, well, that’s different. I specifically allocate time to talk to you._

Jensen’s face felt warm, as did other parts of his body.

 **Shopguy78** : _Oh. um. Thanks :))_

 **Bookman66** : _Don’t mention it :)_

 **Shopguy78** : _You know, I used to want to be a physical therapist. Actually went for it in grad school before changing my major_

 **Bookman66** : _Yeah? Bet you would’ve been good at it._

 **Shopguy78** : _Well, I’ve been told I do give a mean massage ;)_

 **Bookman66** : _That does sound nice…_

Jensen swallowed hard and he shifted on the bed, his laptop moving with him in the process.

 **Shopguy78** : _Well, sometimes you just need to train your mind, you know, to imagine an impulse. That’s all everything is, anyway. Pain, stress, pleasure. They’re all electrical impulses to the brain. Just… imagine hands on your shoulders… easing away the tension._

 **Bookman66** : _Your hands?_

Jensen had stopped breathing. That must have been what happened. He died and this right here was his own slice of heaven.

Except, nope, that was definitely still his pulse jackhammering away in his neck. Steeling himself, Jensen decided it was now or never.

 **Shopguy78** : _Do you want them to be my hands, J.D.?_

 **Bookman66** : _More than you know_

“Oh god,” Jensen exhaled. He was achingly hard in seconds, unable to believe this was really happening.

 **Shopguy78** : _Are we… are we really doing this?_

He held his breath waiting for the response.

 **Bookman66** : _Depends on what you mean by ‘this’..._

Before Jensen could even begin typing, he saw the box indicate J.D. still was. He sat, breath caught in his lungs, waiting for the next words to appear.

 **Bookman66** : _If you mean: am i about to tell you all the things i’d do to you if you were here right now, while you jerk off imagining just that... then yes, sweetheart, we’re doing this._

 _Fuck_ , Jensen typed, before he could stop himself, his dick throbbing in his pajama pants, eyes trained more on that endearment than the dirty parts of that sentence. _God, yes._

 **Bookman66** : _Christ. Wanna touch you everywhere you have no idea. get my mouth all over your body, on your dick._

“Yes,” Jensen choked out, typing the same thing. _Want you, JD_

 **Bookman66** : _And once ive had my tongue all over your dick, teasing you, i could drag my mouth lower if thats what ur into. lick you everywhere baby_

 _oh holy shit_ , Jensen typed and wasted no more time, pulling his cock out of his boxers and shoving them and his pants down his hips.

 **Shopguy78** : _yes. that. yes_

It was hard to type left-handed and also give his dick the attention it deserved, but it looked like J.D. was fairing no better, given the increased amount of typos in his sentences and lack of punctuation.

 **Bookman66** : _Touching mysekf thinking of you my mouth on you you moaning above me close so close already sorry do it too sweetheart please_

 **Shopguy78** : _jd god your mouth, im so fucking close already 2, dick leaking for you_

**Bookman66** : _ffffffuck im_

“Oh, God, oh my fucking god,” Jensen gasped out. The knowledge that he’d just made J.D. come spurred on his own orgasm, and he panted hard, chest heaving and thigh muscles tensing as his balls drew up and he pumped his dick once, twice…

**Shopguy78** : _gggggggod Oh fffuck jd_

It was all he could get out as his cock pulsed in his hand, come shooting onto his stomach, his chest, needing J.D. to know what he did to him, how fucking hard he just came.

Jensen lay there, gasping at the ceiling while trying to will his vision back into focus. He grabbed some tissues from the nightstand and feebly cleaned up before turning to look at the screen beside him.

**Bookman66** : _you still there, sweetheart?_

Christ, that endearment was going to do him in.

**Shopguy78** : _Yes. That was..._ he trailed off, unable to even put into words, written or spoken, exactly what that was. 

J.D., as it turned out, was right there with him, though.

**Bookman66** : _Yeah. It really fucking was. Pretty mortified that we barely got started before I was gone. You’ve uh, kinda had me on edge for a while now._

Jensen laughed, giddiness bubbling up in his chest at the confirmation that J.D was just as into him.

**Shopguy78** : _Not like I fared much better. You totally aren’t alone there ;) So… how was that for stress relief? Bet you’re less tense now, huh *eyebrow waggle*_

**Bookman66** : _LOL. Baby, if that’s your normal treatment plan, you can relieve my tension any day._

Warmth expanded across his chest, settling somewhere in the vicinity of Jensen’s heart.

**Shopguy78** : _I should let you sleep now that you’ll probably be able_

**Bookman66** : _Mmm. Yeah, i think I’ll be having some very nice dreams now :P_

Jensen shook his head, laughing.

 **Shopguy78** : _Anyone ever tell you you’re cheesy as hell?_

**Bookman66** : _No, actually. You must bring it out in me_

It was getting awfully difficult to tame the skipping of his heart in his chest.

**Shopguy78** : _Well, I’m glad. G’night, J.D._

**Bookman66** : _G’night._  
___________________________ 

When Jensen awoke there was an email from J.D. with no subject and one line of text.

_Do you think we should… meet?_

“Meet?” Jensen breathed, staring at the words. He snapped his laptop shut. “Meet.”

“This is good!” Jared exclaimed into the phone 20 minutes later. “This was the goal, Jensen. As you can see, I was completely correct in my cybersex suggestion, and now the man wants to meet you.”

“Exactly!” Jensen yelled, waving his hand wildly in the air even though Jared couldn’t see him. “Now he wants to meet me, after never having brought it up before, all because I put out? Is that the game we’re playing here?”

“Oh my god,” Jared groaned. “Would you listen to yourself? You weren’t happy when you were pining away with unresolved sexual tension, and now you’re not happy because you boned online and he might wanna bone in person?”

“Don’t say bone, you know I hate that.”

Jared laughed. “Jen, the guy is crazy about you. He was crazy about you before you got freaky online, and he’ll be crazy about you once he actually sees the whole package -- no pun intended.”

“Thanks” Jensen muttered grumpily, unable to deny that Jared was making sense. It was possible he was just -- looking for the worst in things, not trusting that this might be for real. “Okay. Okay, I’m gonna meet him.”

“Thank fuck, can I go now?”

“Yes, asshole.” Jensen grinned. “And thank you. Seriously.”

“Mmmhmm. I expect full details.”

Jensen hung up and went back over to his laptop.

**To: Bookman66@gmail.com**

_J.D.,_

_I think that sounds like a great idea. Is tonight too soon? It’s Sunday, I figure we could go out a little earlier than we’d both be able during the work week, and -- well -- I’d honestly rather not wait until next weekend. If this makes me seem overly eager, I’ve certainly been called worse._

J.D. replied back twenty-five minutes later. Not that Jensen was counting or waiting in front of the screen the whole time or anything. 

_Tonight would be wonderful. You pick the place. I know myself and would probably overdo it, if it were left up to me._. 

“How cute is that?” Jensen mumbled around a grin, and began typing.

**To: Bookman66**

_How about Cafe Bedlam, then, for coffee? It’s on 2nd Ave and Bell. Quaint, but nice. Casual. 6pm? I’ll be there with a copy of The Front Runner and a gold pocket watch._

_I can’t wait,_ was J.D.’s reply. 

“Great,” Jensen breathed.

Now he just had to keep from going out of his mind until it was time to leave. Easy.

___________________________


	6. Chapter 6

Jeff was more nervous than he got for business meetings that had literally billions of dollars on the line. He was more nervous than when he’d first been put in charge of _Morgan_. He was more nervous than his wedding day. 

So, he did the only thing he could think of and asked Aldis to come along for reinforcement. 

“Let me guess: he’s gonna be sitting with there a book and a flower, amirite?”

Jeff ducked his head and walked a little faster. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Well, not the flower part,” Jeff mumbled. “Pocket watch.” 

“Oh brother.”

“This is crazy, right? What am I even doing here?” 

He couldn’t even blame the suggestion on post-coital bliss. No, Jeff had all his faculties about him when he sent that email bright and early this morning. Then he went in the shower and replayed every moment of the night before over again, coming against the tiles and not even having a name to gasp out as he did so. 

Aldis caught up with him. “Jeff, just calm down, man. It’s okay. You’re just taking it to the next level. I always do that. Always take things to the next level. Your next level just happens to be “finally gonna see the face of the guy I’m nuts about and did the cyber nasty with.” 

Jeff groaned and stopped in his tracks, wheeling on Aldis. “I can’t believe I told you that. I’ll just stay ten minutes, right? Just ten minutes.”

“Mmm-hmm, whatever you say, boss.”

They came to a stop next to a rather quirky looking awning and storefront. “Cafe Bedlam. This is it.”

Aldis sniffed. “Not your speed.” 

It was true. Jeff preferred his neutral, unassuming Starbucks. This was… quirky, at best. 

“Shopguy likes it.” 

“Hmm. He might be good for you after all.” Aldis clapped him on the shoulder. “Alright, man, text me when --” 

“I can’t,” Jeff said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t look, Aldis. Just -- just peek through the window for me, alright?” 

“Jesus, man, are you sure you’re the same guy that makes small business owners cry four times a week?” 

Jeff dragged his palm down over his beard. “Aldis, please just shut up and tell me if he’s there.” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Aldis replied sweetly, and then stepped up to the window. Jeff held his breath, watched as Aldis looked in, did a double take, looked at Jeff, then looked back again. 

“What?” Jeff asked, horror sinking in, mild reeling. “What is it? Is he not there?” 

“No, uh. No, he’s there,” Aldis hedged. “Pocket watch hanging out of a book, right?” 

“Yes!” 

“Yep, that’s him alright.” Aldis looked at Jeff, biting his lip. 

“And? What’s the issue? Is he hideous or something?” 

“No, no. He’s definitely what you’d go for, I’d imagine. Pretty, even.” 

“Pretty,” Jeff breathed, flashing back to last night. “Had a feeling he’d have to be.” 

Aldis rolled his eyes. “Get it together, old man.” 

“You’re still not telling me what the issue is here.” 

Aldis sighed, looked through the window again, before stepping back. “It’s just -- well, see, if I had to compare his looks to someone I’d say he -- almost has the same coloring as… that owner of _Emily’s_.” 

“ _Emily’s_ , the bookstore? Jensen Ackles?” 

Aldis shot him a smirk that Jeff couldn’t decipher and nodded vigorously. “Exactly. Like him.”

“Okay, well -- alright. So? Who cares about Jensen friggin’ Ackles right now?” 

Aldis shifted from foot to foot, taking one more look through the window as if Shopguy was about to disappear on him or something. “See, it’s like this, Jeff. If you don’t care about Jensen Ackles, then I don’t think you’re gonna care much about your boy in there.” 

Jeff’s eyes narrowed “And why’s that?” he asked, even though dread and realization began to seep in all at once. 

“Because he is Jensen Ackles.” 

Jeff’s heart dropped to his stomach, and he moved forward in a blink of an eye, peering past Aldis and into the window. 

Sure enough, there was Jensen Ackles, sitting there looking simultaneously gorgeous and nervous. Jeff watched as he looked down at his phone, perhaps at the time or if there’d been an email from Jeff explaining why he was about 5 minutes late now. His heart clenched as he took in the book and pocket watch on the table, the button down shirt Jensen was wearing, the full pout of his lips. He’d vaguely thought about the café's rather close proximity to _Emily’s_ , after Shopguy had suggested it, but Jeff wrote it off quickly as just another way his life was intersecting with Jensen Ackles's lately. 

And now… well, now every single thing from the last few weeks was slotting into place at record speed.

“Jeff?” Aldis asked, voice too soft for Jeff’s liking.

“Show’s over,” Jeff muttered, and started to walk away.

“Seriously?! Aw, c’mon man, you’re not just gonna leave him there with his book and everything.” 

Jeff sighed and turned to face his friend. “He hates my guts. Trust me, he doesn’t want me here.” 

Aldis folded his arms over his chest. “He doesn’t know you. Because you don’t let _anyone_ know you, man. Not really. What’s so bad about giving this guy, a guy you absolutely _like_ , a chance?” 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Jeff sighed again, rubbing at his temples. “Just let it go, Aldis. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

Aldis held his hands up. “Alright, bossman. It’s your lonely life.” 

Then he walked away before Jeff could form a comeback. 

Jeff got about fifty feet in the other direction before he was spinning on his heel and walking into the café. 

Jensen hadn’t noticed him yet, was still looking at his phone, punching at the buttons like they held the keys to the universe. 

Jeff ordered himself a small decaf cappuccino and sat at the table off to Jensen’s side, where his back was half to him, and waited for him to notice.

The sharp, quick gasp was unmistakable and when Jeff looked over his shoulder he found Jensen staring furiously at the table, cheeks a little red. 

“Jensen Ackles?” Jeff asked, waiting for Jensen to look up; those green eyes could pierce holes right through him. “Thought that was you.”

“What are you doing here?” Jensen hissed. 

Jeff raised one eyebrow, shifting a little in his chair so he didn’t get a crick in his neck. He gestured to his cup on the table. “It’s a café. People tend to drink coffee and tea based beverages here.” 

“Oh, really? I thought you only frequented Starbucks, not some lowly Mom and Pop place.” 

Jeff snorted, raising his cup. “I happen to be a connoisseur of cappuccino. I like to expand my horizons.” 

“And your bookstores,” Jensen mumbled. 

Jeff raised both eyebrows now, setting his cup down again after a long sip. “Why, yes. It’s called good business. It’s not personal.” 

Jensen’s eyes flared, and he leaned forward over the table. His voice was low and controlled as he said, “You know, someone gave me that advice recently, too, but it _is_ , actually. It’s personal to me. It’s my _livelihood_. How can that _not_ be personal? All that saying means is that it wasn’t personal to you. And what’s so wrong with being personal, anyway?” 

“You can barely pay your property taxes, Mr. Ackles. Don’t blame me for attempting to ease your burden.” 

Jeff watched Jensen grind his teeth together and had to wonder what the hell he was even doing. Sure, everything he was saying was the truth, but that didn’t mean Jensen should be hearing it. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Jensen sighed, disgust heavy in his words, and went back to looking at his phone. 

“Waiting for someone?”

“That’s none of your business,” Jensen replied shortly, rearranging the book and pocket watch on the table so they were nearly hanging off the other end. 

“Hmm. Whatcha got there?” Jeff asked, moving to sit in the vacant seat across from Jensen, the one that he should be occupying anyway, hand going for the pocket watch. 

Jensen pulled it and the book out of his grasp before he could reach it. “Do you mind?” he hissed, eyes boring into Jeff once more. This close he was even prettier than Jeff remembered, lips so pink, with flushed cheeks to match. He had day-old stubble on his chin and cheeks and Jeff would kill to feel it scratch against his thighs. 

Clearing his throat, Jeff held one hand up in a silent apology. 

“That a pocket watch?” 

Jensen rolled his eyes. “You’re so observant, Mr. Morgan.”

“Call me Jeff, please.” He used his schmoozing tone, the one that never failed to charm business vendors. 

Jensen snorted. “I’d rather not.”

Jeff huffed, starting to get annoyed now. Sure, Jensen had every reason to dislike him, but Jeff was trying here. He really was. 

“Who even uses pocket watches anymore?” he muttered meanly, needing to get some of his irritation out. 

“It’s a family heirloom, if you must know,” Jensen replied, sounding snotty and stuck up and not at all the way he did in his warm, engaging emails. 

“Looks pretty expensive. Bet you could hock it and relieve some of your debt.” 

Jensen stared at Jeff like he'd just killed someone. “It was my grandfather’s, you creep. My grandmother gave it to me when I was a kid.”

Ouch. He hadn’t questioned it when Jensen said he’d be there with a pocket watch, had simply found it rather vintage and endearing. 

Before he had a chance to apologize, Jensen said, “And, not like you care, but my shop is named after her.”

“Of course it is,” Jeff said softly, looking down at the table. When he began to put Shopguy and Jensen together in his head -- well -- it all made so much goddamn sense. And Jeff’s heart hurt. 

Jensen sighed. “Look, I’m expecting company, and I don’t think they’d be too happy to see me sitting here with someone else, so if you could please leave?” 

Despite the please and the way it was phrased as a question, Jensen’s words were anything but a friendly request. Jeff also noticed the use of ‘they’ instead of ‘he’. 

“Big date?” Jeff wheedled, because apparently he was a masochist and had to keep drawing this out. What he was really trying to do, what he’d had in mind since he set foot in this damn coffee shop, was to get up the courage to say the words, ‘Jensen, it’s me, I’m Bookman66,’ but this kept going from bad to worse, and Jeff -- simply couldn’t do it. 

Jensen huffed loudly, his phone clattering onto the table after he fussed with it again. “Yes, alright? Happy now?”

“Well, seems to me they’re a bit late.” 

“They’re busy,” Jensen muttered, but he didn’t meet Jeff’s eyes, just glanced over to his phone again and then at the door. Jeff’s heart clenched. 

“Still, they could call you. Let you know.” 

He watched Jensen bite his lip and look off to the side, embarrassed. And just like that, Jeff adjusted his course of action to ‘make Bookman66 look like the asshole.’ 

“Wait, wait. Book, pocket watch, all set out precisely on the table, you looking around the coffee shop every chance you get. Why, Mr. Ackles, is this a _blind_ date?” 

Jensen glared at him even harder now, but hey, at least he was looking at Jeff again. 

“Your arrogance is not becoming.” 

“And you didn’t answer my question. What, do you not have their phone number or something?”

“Email,” Jensen admitted reluctantly. 

Jeff nodded, crossing his legs and leaning forward to rest his elbow on the table, settling in. Jensen raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. “Kind of a dick move to not shoot you an explanation.” 

“Maybe they don’t have service. Or their phone died.” 

“Maybe,” Jeff conceded. 

“I’m sure it’s something like that.” Jensen sounded so earnest, looked so hopeful as he glanced at the door one more time, that Jeff nearly told him right then and there. 

Instead, his eyes fell to the book. “ _The Front Runner_. Been a while since I read that one.” 

Jensen’s eyes shot to Jeff, both brows raised to his hairline. “You’ve read...” 

“Sure,” Jeff shrugged, casually, even as his heart pounded. “‘It’s a classic, right?” 

“Well, yes, but --” 

“It might be blasphemous, but I might prefer _Harlan’s Race_ more.”

Jensen was gaping at him. Jeff reached for the book before Jensen could stop him, took in its worn state. “Bet you’ve read this a million times, huh? As a teenager you were probably just waiting around for your own Harlan to come along, to--” 

“Stop,” Jensen says, tone deadly. 

Jeff’s mouth closed audibly, taking in Jensen’s stiffened posture, his shuttered expression. 

“Just stop. I won’t let someone like you sit here and make fun of me, or my sexuality, or the fact that I’m well aware I’m being stood up tonight.”

“Jensen, I wasn’t--” 

“You think you can just take everything, don’t you, Mr. Morgan? You don’t see a small, earnest shop, you see a problem. You don’t see books, you see pages that were once trees and in your mind the branches are the money--”

“Now, just wait--”

“You’ve deluded yourself into thinking you're some benefactor, bringing books to the masses, but no one will ever remember you, Jeffrey Morgan. And maybe no one will remember me either, but plenty of people will remember the feeling my shop provides them with. You, on the other hand, are nothing but a suit, and if someone ever cut you open and looked inside, they’d find a cash register for a brain and a bottom line for a heart.” 

Jeff sat in stunned silence, Jensen’s tirade trailing off and his eyes immediately widening, as if what he'd said only just caught up with him. 

They stared at each other, and Jeff tried in earnest to keep the hurt off his face, but nonetheless felt it seeping deep into his veins the way nothing had in a long time. 

“Mr. Morgan, I--” 

Jeff waved him off, sniffing. “Well, I’m glad you finally got that off your chest. Probably been a while in the making. Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll leave you to your companion, should he arrive.”

Jeff stood and shrugged into his coat, watched out of the corner of his eye as Jensen floundered, mouth opening and closing but saying nothing else. 

He placed his half-drunk mug of cappuccino in the tray above the trash can and walked outside, cool air hitting his overheated cheeks. 

Jeff was used to being told off. It had come to be expected when you were a big, bad corporate company. Jensen didn’t exactly say anything all that different from what Jeff had heard in the past. No, it was the fact that the words came from the one person he’d come to feel things for that he hadn’t let himself feel in years. It was the fact that Jensen was capable of saying them to him, and that Jeff actually cared enough to be hurt by them in return. 

Jeff didn’t email Jensen when he got home. He knew it was an assholish move, but he wasn’t exactly feeling charitable right now. After all, he’d just found out the man he had fallen for was the same person who hated his guts more than anyone. 

He crawled under the covers and allowed himself to wallow. 

The next morning there was an email from Jensen. And how weird was that, to finally be able to attach a name to the words on his screen and not even be able to feel elation.

_Dear J.D.,_

_I don’t know why you didn’t show up last night. I’ve been going over and over it in my head, and I keep going back to what happened between us the other evening. I’m sorry if I was too forward, if I did something to make you think -- less of me. I’ve replayed that event more times than I can tell you in the short time since, mostly with incredibly, um, **fond** memories, but after last night, I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think if I missed a cue somewhere. I’d thought we both had -- a rather nice time. _

_Then I began thinking maybe you were in some kind of horrible accident and there’s no way I’d know. I can’t exactly be calling up local hospitals asking if Bookman66 or a “J.D.” had been brought in. It makes me kinda hate that I don’t even know your first name. So, I’m hoping you are not injured or dead, J.D. But if you _are_ in one piece, I think I deserve an explanation. I told myself you might not have had service, but service comes back eventually. I told myself your phone died, but there are such things as chargers. _

_And then, finally, I fessed up and told myself: “Well, [Redacted], maybe he’s just not that into you.” And honestly, if that’s the case, or if you’ve found someone else or whatever, please just tell me. I can take anything but being made a fool. I’ve had enough of that in the last 12 hours._

_I’m not even sure you care anymore but -- well, I had a pretty shitty night on top of you standing me up. Someone else came to the cafe in your place, someone who is so the opposite of you on every level. He gets under my skin so much, just the thought of him makes me want to scream. And he was condescending and infuriating and I just -- I was starting to do that thing again, just freeze up in the face of this man’s… everything._

_Until I thought about how you might handle the situation and suddenly I let loose. I said everything I wanted to say, and to his face. And then, it was just like you had said -- I felt immediate remorse. I probably shouldn’t have, I mean this person doesn’t give a damn about me, to me I’m just another insignificant bug to be crushed. He probably doesn’t even have feelings to hurt, but -- what if he does? And what if I hurt them? He left rather abruptly afterward and no matter what stress he’s put me through lately, he doesn’t deserve the things I said to him. And I’d take them back in a second, I really would. Because as it turns out, finally saying your epic comeback really isn’t all that epic. It just feels shitty. And I suppose I’m just not cut out for cruelty._

_Suffice to say I spent the rest of the night curled up in bed, watching one of your movie selections. Sabrina this time. You owe me new ones, you know._

_Despite your standing me up, and despite how foolish it made me feel, I do want more of your movie recs, J.D._

_I hope to hear from you, but if not, thank you for this time we’ve had together, however trivial it might be in the grand scheme of things. I know we’ve been more likely to talk about nothing rather than something -- given this form of communication and the rules we set in place -- but I just want you to know that all of these nothings have meant more to me than all the somethings in the world._

_Yours,_

_Shopguy_

Jeff re-read the email three times, heart swelling in his chest. He needed to leave for work and tried to make himself, but he couldn’t. He owed Jensen a response. An explanation. Something. 

He started to write out excuses. That he was in Vancouver and got detained by customs and they took all his electronic devices. Hell, it wasn’t far from Seattle and Jeff traveled on business. It was possible! 

He erased the words immediately. Next up he tried the old "trapped in an elevator" excuse, and that he’d left his phone at home, and hey, they only just rescued them a few hours ago and it was pretty traumatic! 

He looked down at Bisou, who it seemed was significantly unimpressed by him. Jeff winced and backspaced loudly. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a steadying breath and began to type again. 

**To: Shopguy78@gmail.com**

_Dearest Shopguy,_

_I can’t tell you what happened last night. But this is me asking, from the bottom of my heart, for you to forgive me for not being there._

_And while I feel terrible that my lack of presence last night put you in a situation that caused you additional pain, I’m sure that whatever you said last night was provoked, and moreover, deserved. Everyone says things they regret. You aren't a cruel person, Shopguy. You were caught off guard, expecting to see someone you trusted and ending up with a wolf in sheep’s clothing instead._

_And I beg you to please not think this has anything to do with the other night. That was one of the best things to ever happen to me, and I don’t just mean the sex. I mean -- everything. The intimacy of it all, despite the very limitations of this type of communication._

_The fault lies solely with me. And one day I hope to explain it to you. But for now, I’m still here._

_Yours,_

_J.D._

___________________________


	7. Chapter 7

“Did he say anything about wanting to meet you again?” Danneel asked from her patented spot on the counter. 

Jensen groaned from where he sat on the floor, Jared beside him. “No. And hey, it’s fine. We’ll just stay penpals till we die.” 

Jared passed him the bag of Doritos, and Jensen happily took a handful. 

Danneel clapped her hands. “Hey, look on the bright side: you’ve got the neighborhood squarely behind you, right? Saturday was a success. Business has already picked up this week.” 

“Yeah. We’ll see how long that lasts,” he said, fatalistically.

“Well not with _that_ attitude, Debbie Downer,” said Danneel. 

“You need to have some fun, Jen,” Jared added, munching loudly on a chip. “Stop living like a monk. C’mon, let’s go out Friday night.” 

“I dunno…”

“He’s right, doll. You gotta live a little. Cut yourself some slack. There _is_ life beyond your computer screen, after all.” 

“Maybe you’re right,” Jensen admitted. 

“Yes!” Jared whooped, and Jensen found himself laughing, despite all the confusion he was feeling surrounding J.D.

Emails with J.D. the rest of the week were -- sporadic at best. Jensen found it best to just forgive and forget and play things cool. If J.D. wanted to meet again, it would be his move. Jensen wasn’t going to be the chaser here. When Friday finally came, he found himself actually looking forward to going out to the club with Jared. It was a gay one they used to frequent together often but hadn’t in some time. It also had the reputation for being a place that they nearly always left together too, usually fused at the mouth. If that had been Jared’s intention when choosing the location, well, Jensen wasn’t about to complain. In fact, some uncomplicated, great sex with his best friend might be just what he needed right now. 

And it worked, for a while. Jensen lost himself in the pulsing beat of the music and the hard lines of Jared’s body as they danced together, hot and sweaty. They had a few other dance partners during the course of the evening but kept gravitating back to one another. It was easier than hooking up with someone else, in a way. Or at least, there was less of the unknown. Jared’s body held comfort and familiarity, and Jensen wanted nothing more than to lose himself in it tonight. 

“Bet you’re not even thinking about you-know-who right now?” Jared’s voice rumbled in Jensen’s ear, his mouth tracing a wet line down toward his jaw. Jensen groaned and twisted his fingers in Jared’s shirt. He was about to agree, to slam his mouth against Jared’s and just take and take -- except when he opened his eyes he caught a straight line to the bar and... was suddenly looking right at Jeffrey Morgan. 

“Shit,” Jensen whispered, tightening his fingers in Jared’s shirt unconsciously. 

“God, I know, baby. Been too long,” Jared mouth moved down to his neck, sucking hard at his rapid pulse. Jensen moaned, his eyes still on Morgan who was staring right back. Jensen felt flayed open, vulnerable, and -- so fucking turned on. A lot of that was Jared, his hot mouth and the hard press of his dick against Jensen’s thigh like a promise. But the rest of it was fucking Morgan with those dark, sultry eyes and that fucking beard -- Jensen couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like scratching against the inside of his thighs or over the cheeks of his ass.

His breath caught in his chest as his brain caught up to his fantasies and he pressed harder into Jared. 

“Morgan is over there,” Jensen said through gritted teeth.

“Huh?” Jared asked vaguely. Jensen knew just how unfocused he got when he was turned on. 

“Jeffrey Morgan. The thorn in my side. Is at the bar.”

“Ooooh. Is he looking at you?” 

Jensen sighed and looked over Jared’s shoulder again. Morgan was still in the same spot, back pressed against the bar in a casual lean. A guy was bent in close trying to talk to him, but Morgan’s eyes never left Jensen’s, and God, he could feel the heat from here. 

“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly. 

“Looks like Danneel was right, then. Dude is totally into you.” 

Jensen gaped. “When did she tell --” 

Jared laughed against his throat, his teeth dragging against Jensen’s skin. 

“He isn’t!” Jensen hissed. “And stop biting my neck when I’m trying to talk to you.” 

Jared’s laughter rumbled against his skin, and he placed a kiss where his teeth had just been. “Tell you what. I’m gonna piss, and then I’m dragging you out of here and into my bed. But how about you go have a shot and unwind in the meantime. At the _bar_ ,” he said pointedly, nipping at Jensen’s earlobe. 

Before Jensen could protest, Jared was gone, and he was left bereft and alone in a sea of bodies. 

He could’ve just gone to wait for Jared near the exit, but his feet pulled him in the direction of the bar without his consent. Whatever. Morgan didn’t have the monopoly on cheese sections, and he sure didn’t have the monopoly on bars. 

“I think you’re stalking me,” Jensen said flatly when he was standing in the newly empty space next to Morgan, the guy from earlier apparently giving up and moving on elsewhere. He waved the bartender over. 

Even over the music, Jensen could hear Morgan scoff. “Please, boy. You sure think a lot of yourself.” 

Jensen turned and glared at him. “I’m not your boy.” 

The heat was back in Morgan’s eyes, and this close it had Jensen shivering from its intensity. 

“No,” Morgan agreed. “Looks like you’re someone else’s, though. I take it Mr. Wonderful showed up after all?” 

“Careful, Morgan, or you’ll sound jealous.” 

An unreadable look crossed Morgan’s face, and then it was gone. Jensen opened his mouth, but then the bartender showed up. 

“Shot of Patrón,” he ordered. 

“Make it two,” Morgan said, and Jensen rolled his eyes. 

They stared at one another, silently assessing while the music thumped around them, waiting for the drinks. 

“You wear glasses,” Jensen blurted out over the music, making it sound more like an accusation 

Morgan looked at him quizzically and adjusted the frames on his face. “I do. Don’t really wear them at work. People tell me they make me look… endearing.” 

Jensen snorted, but God dammit, it wasn’t wrong. “And that’s a bad thing,” he replied flatly. 

Morgan looked him over, setting Jensen’s body aflame with just that gaze. “When you want to be intimidating and assertive, yes.” 

Jensen thought that was dumb, but whatever. Morgan was dumb, stupidly attractive face and body notwithstanding. “I wear reading glasses,” he said, apropos of nothing, and then nearly facepalmed. He was barely drunk enough to be this ridiculous. 

Morgan leaned in close and whispered, “Yeah? I bet they make you very _bookish_.” 

Jensen frowned grumpily even through his full-body shiver, positive Morgan was making fun of him. Thankfully, the shots were then placed in front of them. Morgan slapped some bills down on the bar before Jensen could protest and then raised his glass. “To you and your dream man,” he said magnanimously, before clinking his glass to Jensen’s and knocking back the shot. 

“He’s no --” Jensen started, cutting off when he felt strong arms wrap around his middle. 

“There you are,” Jared growled in his ear, ducking down to bury his face in Jensen’s neck. 

Jensen shivered, eyes cutting to Morgan who looked on blankly. 

Jensen knocked back his own shot, which pressed him even closer to Jared, giving him more access to his neck. 

“Can’t wait to get you out of here,” Jared said, voice loud enough for Morgan to hear. “Spread you out on your back, lick you all over.” 

Jensen’s eyes widened at the words, and he watched Morgan’s flash with something dark. Jared was definitely not drunk enough to be talking dirty where someone else could hear him, so that meant the asshole was doing it on purpose. 

“Oh!” Jared said, straightening up and sticking out a hand to Morgan. “How rude of me. I’m Jared. And you’re the guy who’s putting our Jen here out of business.” 

“My reputation precedes me,” Morgan said gruffly, shaking Jared’s hand. 

“We have no secrets between us,” Jared said sweetly, kissing Jensen’s neck again. “C’mon, baby. I called us a taxi. Let’s get outta here.” 

Jared took his hand, and Jensen followed, giving Morgan one last long look, still unable to read the man’s eyes. 

Once inside the taxi, Jensen turned on Jared, glaring. “What the hell was that about in there?” 

Jared shrugged, a smirk on his lips. “Just testing a theory. And I was right. Guy wanted to take my fucking head off, he was so jealous.” 

Jensen rolled his eyes, trying to ignore how those words made him feel. “So he finds me hot, big deal. He’s still Jeffrey Morgan.” 

“True,” Jared conceded. “But didn’t it feel good, knowing someone else out there desires you?” 

Jensen let that sink in. Jared knew how hard the J.D. stand-up was affecting him, even if he tried to hide it. Putting himself out there like that, first with the cybersex and then with the blind date, had been more than he’d done in a long time when it came to another person. When Jensen thought about it, what Jared had just done for him had been -- incredibly sweet, in a Neanderthal kind of a way. 

He slid across the seat and into Jared’s space, placing a hand on his knee. 

Jared looked down at him, a question in his eyes, and Jensen pushed up, pressing their mouths together. He kissed Jared, open mouthed and just this edge of desperate. 

Jared could always read him so well, and Jensen was sure he could feel it as his body trembled. He pulled back, one hand on Jensen’s cheek, Jensen’s lower lip still trapped between his own. 

“What do you need?” Jared whispered upon releasing it. “Anything, Jen. Just tell me what you need.” 

Jensen groaned as Jared’s mouth slid along his jaw and down his throat, his fingers twisting in Jared’s hair. “Need you to take me out of my head. Just -- just make me forget for a little while. Everything.” 

Jared pulled back and stared at him hard, making Jensen lick his own lips in anticipation. “You’re not even gonna remember your own name when I’m through with you,” Jared said, his words going directly to Jensen’s dick, making him thrum with need. Then Jared kissed him long and slow and deep and didn’t stop until they were pulling up in front of his apartment.  
___________________________

“Good morning, Sunshine!” 

Jensen groaned, eyes shut firm against the sunlight coming into the room. Except he smelled coffee… 

He peered one eye open, and sure enough, Jared was standing there shirtless in loose pajama pants with a mug. 

Jensen made grabby hands at him until he handed him the coffee, and groaned when he took a sip. “You’re _almost_ forgiven for waking me this early after keeping me up until like 4am, asshole.” 

Jared smirked at him. “Uh-huh. Didn’t exactly hear you complaining then. In fact, I think your words were more along the lines of, ‘Oh god, Jay, fuck me harder.’” He waggled his eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion.

Jensen felt blood simultaneously rush to his face and southward, Jared’s voice a low and dirty moan as he attempted to impersonate Jensen.

“Fuck off,” Jensen muttered, taking another gulp of liquid fuel. 

Jared laughed and face-planted on the bed, the force of it making Jensen nearly spill his beverage. “S’one of the things I love about you, man,” Jared said, voice half muffled by the pillow.

“What is?” 

Jared peered up at him, hair wild and half in his eyes. “That you can be a wildcat in the sheets, yet if someone talks about it outside of them, you get as red as a tomato.” 

Jensen scowled into his mug. “Maybe you’re just shameless.” 

Jared hummed and pushed himself up on one hand, leaning in to drag his lips over Jensen’s collarbone. “You love me that way.” 

“Debatable.” 

Jared laughed again, giving a sharp nip to Jensen’s neck before flopping onto his back and sitting up a little against the headboard. “Man, you should’ve seen your face last night, though, in front of Morgan. Talk about fire-engine red.” 

Jensen put the cup down just so he could pull the covers over his head. “God, why did you have to remind me of that.” 

“Don’t be a drama queen. I told you, that guy was so fucking jealous I thought he might kill me with his laser death stare.” 

Jensen pulled the covers back down and frowned up at Jared. “Will you stop with that already? He’s not -- we’re not even-- I hate him!” 

“There’s a thin line between love and…” Jared singsonged before Jensen hit him with a pillow. 

Jared was still grinning when Jensen pulled the pillow away. He held up his hands. “I’m just calling it like I see it. And what I saw was someone who really, really wished they were in my shoes last night.”

Jensen sighed, dragging his palm over his face and then through his hair. “Can we stop talking about this?” 

Jared regarded him for a moment before his eyes softened. “Yeah. No problem, Jen.” 

Jensen gave him a small, grateful smile and sat back, knocking their shoulders together. “Thanks. And thanks for --” he waved his hand between them. “I think I really needed that.” 

Jared smiled even as his eyes darkened. He leaned in, brushing their lips together. “Believe me, it was my pleasure.” His hand came up to Jensen’s jaw and kissed him harder. 

Jensen groaned, lips parting beneath Jared’s as the kiss turned heated. He grabbed a fistful of Jared’s hair and was kissed even deeper in return. Jensen moaned low in his throat and slid down on the bed, pulling Jared closer till he was lying half on top of him. 

They broke away panting, Jared’s forehead resting against Jensen’s. “I had a lot of fun last night,” he said, soft, happy. 

“Yeah…” Jensen replied, distracted. 

Jared pulled back so their eyes could meet, frowning. “Gee, don’t sound so excited about it.”

Jensen shook his head, pushing himself up on his elbows and forcing Jared backward. “No, I just. I dunno, I think I might be ready for something more than just ‘fun’.” 

When he looked up again Jared’s eyes were comically wide. 

“Oh. Um, Jen, I, uh…” 

Jensen was confused by Jared’s deer-in-headlights demeanor for a second before his brain caught up. He flicked Jared on the shoulder. “Not with _you_ , you ass. Jeez, ego much?” 

Jared let out a loud breath. “Oh, thank fuck. Thought I was gonna have to pull out the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech.” 

Jensen rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“Hey now, I’m the one who rimmed and fucked you till you screamed last night, and then did it all over again. I think _some_ flattery is well-deserved."

Jensen’s dick twitched feebly at the memories. “Yeah, yeah, alright.” 

Jared hummed, apparently pleased by Jensen’s acquiescence, and settled down with his head on Jensen’s chest and an arm thrown over his waist. Jared was such a cuddler, it was ridiculous. It used to freak Jensen out when they first started hooking up, made him think Jared was seeking something Jensen wasn’t about to give, until he realized that was simply Jared; a big, floppy, lovable puppy. 

“So, something more than fun, huh?” 

Jensen sighed and absently stroked Jared’s hair. “Weird, right? I don’t know, I wasn’t interested in a relationship for so long, and now between J.D. and --” 

Jensen cut himself off, mouth snapping shut. 

Jared nudged at his chest. “You were totally gonna say Morgan,” he replied, sleepily. 

Jensen’s body froze, but his pulse was jackrabbiting in his neck. “I am so screwed...” 

“Well, whomever you choose,” Jared said around a loud, unattractive yawn, “just make sure they know to bring you coffee in the morning. You’re a grumpy asshole without it.”

___________________________


	8. Chapter 8

“He’s got a fucking boyfriend,” Jeff said for the third time in as many minutes. 

Aldis shook his head. “You don’t know that, man. You said yourself he was about to tell you something before the guy came over.” 

Jeff ran a hand over the back of his scalp. “Yeah, well. Maybe I was just hearing what I wanted to hear.” 

“Or maybe you’re trying to convince yourself there’s something wrong with this guy,” Aldis pointed out. 

Jeff glared at him. “I think I liked you better before you started giving me advice on my love life. After all, it was _you_ who convinced me to go out Friday night and take a break from technology. Look how well that turned out.”

“Yeah, well, then you shouldn’t have gotten me involved,” Aldis replied cheerfully. “You still heading over to the Laurelhurst location later?” 

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Gotta meet with a local author. Looks like I convinced her to do a signing with us instead of _Emily’s_ , which she’d already booked.” 

“Hmmph,” Aldis said. Jeff tried not to hear so much judgment in that one little sound.

The meeting went well, and the deal was another nail in the coffin of the small, independent shop. Pretty soon Ackles would have to admit that he couldn’t compete and wave the white flag. 

Jeff wondered why the thought made him ache a little, even after the other night when jealousy and want had flared in his gut at the sight of Jensen and his gorgeous companion. They made too pretty a picture, were fucking perfect for one another. Jeff was just an aging old Scrooge in the face of all that. 

Like some cosmic joke, Jeff was coming down the stairs from the business offices when he spotted Jensen in front of the children’s section of his store. 

Steeling himself, he took a breath and made himself walk over. 

“Now who’s stalking whom?” Jeff asked, happy when Jensen startled so hard he dropped the book in his hand. 

“I wasn’t --” he said, floundering. “As if I’d know you’d even be here, Mr. Morgan.” 

Jeff shrugged. “My name’s on the building, isn’t it?” 

“Seems like the actual selling of books to people is somewhat below you. You prefer to just take what isn’t yours.” 

Jeff nodded. “You might be onto something there, seeing as one of your in-houses just signed with us instead.” 

Jensen’s eyes widened before his expression closed off.

“I -- need to get out of here,” he said faintly. 

Jeff told himself he was glad to have hit a nerve after feeling like he’d been played for a fool the last few days since their meeting at the club. 

That lasted all of thirty seconds before he was running out the door after him. 

“Jensen!” he called, stopping the other man in his tracks as he was making his way to the parking lot. 

Jensen spun around, eyes hard. “Just leave me alone, alright? Haven’t you done enough?” 

“I --” 

“What?” Jensen shouted, voice hard. 

“It really is just business, Jensen. It’s nothing -- it isn’t you personally. You just happen to be the owner of a store the Board would rather have gone than compete with. They’re actually scared of you. Do you get that?” 

Jensen scoffed, looking away. “Yeah, right. Because _Emily’s_ is so scary. You said it yourself, I can barely afford my property taxes. Anyone else would’ve caved to you already. Maybe I’m just fighting a losing game.” 

Jeff’s heart clenched painfully in his chest at the dejected look on Jensen’s face. “I like it when you fight,” he admitted. 

Jensen looked at him in surprise. “You do realize _you’re_ the one I’m fighting against, right?” 

“Yeah, well. I didn’t say it made sense.” 

Jensen stared at him for so long that Jeff shifted nervously, the idea of Jensen putting two and two together making him simultaneously terrified and elated. “I don’t get you,” Jensen finally said. 

Jeff laughed, humorously. “Yeah. I’ve heard that a lot.” 

Jensen bit his lip; he was still prettier than anyone had any right to be. “That wasn’t my boyfriend,” he blurted out. 

Jeff raised an eyebrow. 

“The other night,” Jensen continued. “That was -- my best friend. Sometimes we scratch that itch, you know?” He was looking anywhere but at Jeff, scratching the back of his neck. It was god damned adorable. 

“Okay,” Jeff said slowly. 

“I dunno why I’m telling you that,” Jensen admitted, waving his hand around in frustration. Still adorable. 

“So, still no Mr. Wonderful, then?” 

“No,” Jensen said, ducking his head. 

“But you’re crazy about him.” 

“Yes,” Jensen admitted, voice quiet. 

Jeff’s heart lurched at the confirmation. “Well if you want my advice... maybe you should just try to meet him again. Or is that too wild of an idea? I mean, why would you want to meet someone you’re crazy about?” 

Jensen’s eyes flashed. “Why would I take advice from someone who--”

Before he knew it, he was up in Jensen’s space, not even feeling his feet move. He placed a finger up near Jensen’s lips, just hovering there, an inch away from touching. “Let me stop you there. I know I bring out the worst in you, so let’s just pretend you said that awful thing you wanted to say, and spare you the years of guilt over it, huh?” 

Jensen stared up at him, and Jeff found himself lost in the green of his eyes once more. Their gaze held for a long, charged moment, and Jeff swallowed hard when Jensen’s gaze dropped to his mouth.

He stepped back and cleared his throat. “Well. You take care, Jensen.” 

“Yeah,” Jensen said faintly, and Jeff felt his eyes on his back the whole time he walked away. 

Unwittingly, he smiled.

___________________________


	9. Chapter 9

It had been days, and Jensen couldn’t stop thinking about his last meeting with Jeff. Or the fact that he’d suddenly become ‘Jeff’ and not ‘Morgan’ in his head. Jensen had no idea why he’d even gone into _Morgan Books_ that afternoon. It was a rare day when he wasn’t on shift, and he’d just been out for a drive, trying to clear his head. He ended up taking an exit he didn’t normally take, in a too-rich area he didn’t normally frequent. When he’d come to a stop at a light and saw the huge sign for _Morgan_ to his left, he’d ended up pulling into the parking lot of the shopping center. He couldn’t deny the store was nice. Huge, lots of space, but without the care and nurturing a bookstore truly deserved. This was clear by the setup of their children’s section, too. Jensen had just been about to leave when, of course, the one time in his whole life that he’d stepped foot into the store, he had to run into Jeffrey Morgan himself. 

Between the odd ending to their interaction that day and the weird, impersonal situation he had going on with J.D. (there were no more endearments, no flirtations, definitely no more cybersex; it was like the entire event was a fantasy of Jensen’s own creation), Jensen was confused as all hell. Finally, he decided to bite the bullet and be brave for once in his damn life, taking Jeff’s advice and just… going for it. 

**To: Bookman66@gmail.com**

**Subject: Us**

_I’ve been thinking about this and I think we should meet._

He hit send, butterflies dancing in his stomach. He didn’t have to wait long for a response. 

_We should meet. And we will meet. But I’m in the middle of a project that needs...tweaking_. 

“Tweaking,” Jensen muttered. “What the hell does that mean?” 

Sighing, he got ready to go to work. The day was boring and mundane, Jensen’s mind wandering to his email from J.D. more often than not. He stopped at the Cherry Street Coffee House, which was just down the block from the shop, after closing up.

He was sitting at the counter facing the window when there was suddenly a tapping. It was Jeff, mimicking a drinking motion. 

Jensen’s pulse jumped in his neck, and he nodded. He was still a little on edge from their last meeting and how -- intimate their parting had felt. 

“Hi,” Jensen said as Jeff walked up to where he was sitting.

“Hi yourself. Fancy meeting you here.” 

“Well, I do work nearby,” Jensen pointed out, silently wondering if Jeff was in the area for business rather than pleasure. It seemed more likely. 

“This is true,” Jeff said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his long, expensive looking coat. “I’ll just -- get something to drink. Meet you over there?” He pointed to a table in the corner, side windows.

“Sure,” Jensen replied, closing the book he was reading for the club and heading toward the table. He hated that he was actually -- looking forward to this, rather than his usual dread. What the hell was wrong with him? 

“That’s a good one,” Jeff said as he joined Jensen, nodding to the book. 

Jensen blinked at him in surprise. “You’ve read it?” 

“Mmm-hmm. Just finished, actually.” 

“Huh,” Jensen replied absently, thumbing the cover of the book. Jeff continually surprised him. “I’m reading it for a book club, actually.” 

Jeff hummed, and Jensen risked a glance at him. Ah, what the hell. “Actually, uh, that’s where I met ‘Mr. Wonderful,’ as you like to call him.”

Jeff’s eyes lit up, delighted. He rubbed his hands together. “The internet? Why, Mr. Ackles, how very _modern_ for someone as ‘old-fashioned’ as yourself.” 

Jensen rolled his eyes, but his lips were tugging up in a smile regardless. “Shut up. And, uh, you can call me Jensen. You did before.” 

Their eyes met as Jensen referenced their last meeting, and it was like they were back in front of _Morgan Books_ , a low heat simmering between them. Jensen broke his gaze away first and heard Jeff clear his throat. 

“Right, well. You should call me Jeff, then.” 

“Jeff,” Jensen nods. And suddenly he was telling him the latest on Bookman66 (without revealing his handle or nickname) and how he’d actually taken Jeff’s damn advice and asked that morning to meet him. 

“Tweaking?” Jeff repeated, incredulous. 

“Tweaking,” Jensen sighed. “That’s what he said.” 

“A project that needed tweaking. Okay, alright. It sounds to me like he’s… married. 2.5 kids, 1 dog, white picket fence, the whole deal.” 

“You’re awful. And he’s divorced, if you must know.” 

“Ah-ha! Could be a cover. A way for him to hide yet not really be hiding. Still can mention her, but not say the whole truth.”

Jensen frowned at the idea, sudden worry hitting him. “Well… I mean, they do work together.” 

Jeff laughed, head thrown back. Jensen hated how gorgeous the column of his neck was, the way the stubble from his beard looked against his skin. “Oh, Jensen. ‘Work together’ is the oldest euphemism in the book.” 

“You’re the worst,” Jensen said, but Jeff just kept smiling. They talked for a while longer. Jensen found himself telling Jeff about growing up in Texas, moving to Seattle during college. 

“I _thought_ I detected an accent,” Jeff replied, looking far too sexy as he sat back and crossed one perfectly tailored suit-clad leg over the other. 

Jensen hummed. “Comes out more when I’m angry. You’ve seen that side of me quite a lot.” 

Jeff laughed delightedly, and Jensen could barely believe he was sitting here, shooting the shit with the guy he was at war with. 

“Go home often?” 

“Not as much as I’d like,” Jensen replied, cutting himself off before adding how money was tight and it wasn’t always easy. All that would do was prove Jeff’s point when it came to the shop. Plus, it wasn't as though Jeff would understand things like that, anyway. The guy never had to struggle with money a day in his life. It grounded Jensen a little, remembering there were definitely things he couldn’t share with this guy. 

The rest of their conversation was comfortable, though, neither of them mentioning the elephant in the room. 

“Good luck with Married with Children,” Jeff quipped as he walked to his car. 

“He isn’t married!” Jensen called back.

“‘It’s Complicated’ with Children!” Jeff corrected. 

Jensen threw his head back in a belly laugh. “I liked it better when you called him Mr. Wonderful!” 

He heard Jeff’s own laughter, faint but there, as he raised one hand in a wave without turning around. 

It didn’t stop Jensen from emailing J.D. from his phone while walking to his own car, though. 

**To: Bookman66@gmail.com**

**Subject: Re: Us**

_I know this is probably going to come out wrong, but -- you’re definitely divorced, right?_

He winced when J.D.’s prompt response was already waiting for him by the time he’d pulled into his driveway. 

_Am I divorced? What kind of a question is that? Oh wait, don’t tell me. Your friends are telling you I won’t meet you because I’m actually still married to my ex, is that it?_

“God, Jensen, you are so not smooth,” he groaned, banging his head on the steering wheel.

“So he didn’t answer the question,” Jeff said on the phone the next evening. They’d exchanged numbers after coffee the day before. It was -- surreal, talking casually on the phone with the guy whose mere existence still jeopardized his livelihood. 

“Yes, he did! Man, he nailed me, saw right through me.” 

“Jensen. He did _not_ answer the question, did he?” 

“...no,” he admitted reluctantly. 

“What’s this guy’s screenname again?” Jeff asked, far too innocently. 

“I’m not gonna tell you that!” 

He laughed heartily. “I’m not gonna try and email him, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Jensen groaned. “Bookman66.” 

“Bookman66. 66. Hmm. He’s 66 years old.”

“Shut up,” Jensen laughed. 

“The number of bunions he’s had removed from his feet.” 

“The number of people who think he looks like Rock Hudson.” 

“The number of people who have thrown rocks _at him_.” 

Jensen cracked up. “The number -- his birth year.” 

“Aw, come on, you really think he’d be that obvious?” 

Jensen flushed. “Yeah, well. That’s what mine means. Shopguy78.” 

“Hmm.” 

Jensen shifted, feeling a little warm at Jeff’s sudden change in tone. “What?” 

“Nothing. Just thinking that when I was your age…” 

Jensen swallowed hard. “Yeah?” 

“Well. Just that the guys back then weren’t nearly as gorgeous as you.” 

Jensen’s pulse sped up, and he bit down on his bottom lip. 

“And if it _is_ his birth year,” Jeff continued, “then I’m not that far off from there, so I can’t really poke fun.” 

Jensen swallowed, mind still on Jeff casually calling him ‘gorgeous.’ “Oh, well, uh. You look really good for your -- I mean. Not that you’re _old_ or -- oh my god, sorry.” 

Jeff just laughed, though, easy as anything. “Easy, Jensen, I’m not offended. Oh! His number of felony indictments.”

Jensen laughed, ran a hand through his hair, and tried to remember how to breathe. He couldn’t even flirt back with the man without making a fool of himself. If that’s what Jeff was doing in the first place…  
_____________________

“He was totally flirting with you,” Jared confirmed when he stopped by the store the next day, in between his training session and his dog-walking stint. “Jen, that was as good as a ‘please let me suck your dick.’ C’mon, man.” 

“You’re incorrigible. And he’s still the enemy.” 

“Have you heard from his lawyers again?” 

“No,” Jensen admitted. 

“Well, that’s a good thing!” 

“Yeah, he’s just been too busy poaching our in-house authors!” Danneel called from the stockroom. 

Jensen threw Jared a pointed look. 

“Alright, well. Still, you’ve definitely gotten friendly with the guy. And you totally tried to flirt back.” 

Jensen shrugged, uncomfortable. “Doesn’t mean anything. And that was just -- a natural response. Plus, there’s still J.D.” 

Jared scoffed. “Please, that’s fizzling out.” 

“What? No it’s not!” 

“He’s right!” yelled Danneel. “The not-meeting has sucked the juice out of your online romance!” 

“Yep. And you never did cyber again, did you?”

Jensen looked down, studying the counter. “Well, no.” 

“You guys went from the honeymoon stage to the sleeping in separate bedrooms stage in record time.”

“Truth!” Danneel agreed. 

The words were far too on point for Jensen’s liking. “I hate everyone in this store right now.” 

“You love us,” they both said in unison.  
___________________________

Jeff showed up outside the shop the next night, just as Jensen was already outside locking up. 

“Oh, hey!” 

“Hi there. I was in the neighborhood, figured I’d swing by,” Jeff said, hands in the pockets of his light grey suit. He looked immaculate as usual, although Jensen did mourn for the glasses. 

He had to bite his lip so as not to ask Jeff if he was scoping out the block for _Morgan_. Regardless of -- of them getting kind of _friendly_ or whatever, Jensen still couldn’t curb his instincts around Jeff to immediately assume something sneaky. He’d thought the same thing the other day, when Jeff ran into him at Cherry Street Coffee Shop. 

“Cool,” Jensen replied dumbly. 

As if reading Jensen’s mind, Jeff said, “Care to grab some coffee or something?” 

Jensen was surprised by the invite, but even more surprised to find himself agreeing. This wasn’t like their prior “running into one another” hangouts. This was deliberate. 

“You know the block better than I do,” Jeff admitted after telling Jensen to “lead the way.” 

They’d already gone to Cherry Street, and Jensen deliberately steered them away from Cafe Bedlam, the memory of J.D.’s stand up still too raw. 

The nice thing about Seattle was that you never needed to look far for a coffee shop in the vicinity. So instead Jensen had them head over to Storyville, securing a table near the back after ordering. They talked a little more about Jensen’s “online romance” as Jeff called it, and then talked sports, but pretty soon Jensen grew tired of it all, confused by Jeff’s sudden presence in his life and, moreover, how much he liked it. 

“I updated my resume for the first time in forever last night,” Jensen said during a lull in the conversation, hoping to finally address the elephant in the room. 

Jeff looked at him levelly, placing his cappuccino down on the table. “And what do you think you’d want to do, should you have to?” 

Jensen sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. He was just so tired, tired of everything. “I don’t even know. This has always been important to me, you know? The shop. I did it for my grandma, as a way to always keep her with me. She was the person who got me into reading. We’d always go to small independent bookstores when I was a kid living in Richardson. There were fancier and cooler ones not all that far away in Dallas, even a _Morgan_ ’s,” Jensen admitted, glancing up at Jeff. “But she never took me to those. And when she passed away, I started _Emily’s_ for her.” 

Jeff’s eyes were sympathetic when Jensen met his again, but not pitying. 

“She would’ve been proud,” Jeff replied, voice rough yet soft all at once. 

“Yeah,” Jensen sighed. “Yeah, we’ve had a good run.” 

Jeff opened his mouth, then closed it again, before finally saying, “Things have a way of working out the way you least expect, sometimes.” 

It sounded placating to Jensen, but not condescending. He wanted to say more, hell, he wanted to beg Jeff to just cancel the build, but his pride wouldn’t let him. 

They stayed a little while longer before walking out. It had started to rain, and Jensen didn’t have an umbrella. Never carried one, despite where he lived. He hated the damn things. 

“Here,” Jeff said, pulling a black one out of his briefcase. “I’ll walk you to your car.” 

Jensen began to protest, but Jeff just rolled his eyes and pulled him along, his touch hot even through Jensen’s flannel and light jacket. 

“This is me,” Jensen said as they stopped in front of his modest Toyota. Jeff probably had a Maserati or something. 

Jeff nodded at it before looking back down at Jensen. They were standing way too close, and Jensen shivered slightly, just from the rain. 

“Maybe I’ll run into you again soon,” Jeff said, voice low. 

“Sure,” Jensen croaked. “Um. Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight, Jensen.” 

The dry sanctuary of his car felt good, and Jensen let out a long breath, watching Jeff walk away in the rain, mind going a mile a minute at how much this felt like -- like a date. Except that was ridiculous. Jensen didn’t like Jeffrey Morgan. He didn’t. 

It wasn’t until he got home that he realized he hadn’t thought about J.D. all night.

___________________________


	10. Chapter 10

Jeff looked between Aldis and Mary-Louise's stunned faces and anxiously waited for them to respond. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mary-Louise spoke. “Jeffrey. Are you sure you want to do this? The other two shops are still on board, despite the publicity from a few weeks ago. They know they’ll come out better for it in the end. Our segment on 60 Minutes had good ratings, and business has picked up even more in surrounding stores. I had our finance guy get the numbers of _Emily’s_ , and even _with_ their increased publicity, it’s not like they’re generating much more revenue. They still barely break even each year. We had plans put in place to make Ackles cave, from signing on yet another local author, to getting the building itself shut down due to code violations, which probably wouldn’t be too difficult.”

“I’m sure, Mare,” Jeff said. 

She looked to Aldis and back again at Jeff. “But -- the board.” 

“Let me handle the board.” 

“You really liked this location,” Aldis pointed out. 

Jeff shrugged. “The Beacon Hill location is a fine compromise. Maybe not as much street traffic, but -- well, it’s about time I learn to compromise, isn’t it?” 

He looked to Mary-Louise when he said it, who gave him a surprised little nod. 

“Is this you finally living, man?” Aldis said after another long silence. 

“I think -- I think it might be. But beyond that… it’s what’s right, in the long run.” 

Mary-Louise looked at them both in confusion. “Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here?” 

Jeff laughed. “Darling, you know I’ve always loved when you curse at me. Come to lunch and I’ll explain everything.” 

She groaned, but followed him out. 

Aldis stopped Jeff at the door with a hand on his shoulder. “Proud of you, man.” 

Jeff smiled down at him. “Thanks, pal.” 

Mary-Louise was surprised to say the least when he finished explaining. “This is either the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, or the most romantic. Or both.” 

“I know, right?” 

“And this guy -- he’s worth possibly alienating your entire board over?” 

Jeff smiled so wide it hurt his face. “He is. He really is. And the board doesn’t need a store in this location, Mary. They never fucking did. They were just excited at the prospect of sinking another independent, and taking out a few other small shops along the way, to modernize a vintage block, you know that. And hell, _Emily’s_ may very well still sink. But if it does, it’ll sinks on its own merits.” 

Mary-Louise gave Jeff a look like she was seeing him for the first time. She leaned forward, placed her hand over his. “I don’t know where you’ve been storing up all this romance and nobility but I’m happy for you, Jeffrey Dean. And oddly proud, even though as your Head of Development I probably shouldn't be admitting that.”

Jeff smiled and squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

When he finally got home that evening, it was already well after 9. The impromptu board meeting, with many members dialing in remotely, was a hard sell at first, but Mary and Aldis helped, and by the end, Jeff convinced them that despite their best efforts, the traction was too much and his current proposal was the way to go. 

He loosened his tie, patted Bisou on the head, and pulled up a window to email Jensen. 

**To: Shopguy78@gmail.com**

**Subject: Re: Us**

_How about we meet Saturday? 12pm, Denny Park. There’s an off-leash area near South Lake Union and benches in front of the big lawn. Bisou and I will be waiting._

Jeff took a deep breath and hit send.

___________________________


	11. Chapter 11

Jensen looked around the park, knee bouncing nervously. He couldn’t believe he was here. That this was actually happening. Jeff had offered to come with him via text yesterday, after Jensen had informed him about the meeting. 

_In case that number 66 was actually his murder count, you know?_

Jensen had laughed, felt a pang of -- something, but shook it off. He had no idea _why_ he’d told Jeff about meeting J.D., actually, aside from the fact that it’d essentially been their main topic of conversation since they’d gotten friendly or whatever. It had begun to feel -- weird, though. 

Jared had come over this morning, and they went through about ten outfits before Jensen settled on a soft flannel shirt and dark jeans. “These ones make your ass look fantastic,” Jared said. “I should know.” Then he’d patted said ass and said, “Go get ‘em, tiger,” while Jensen blushed and tried to swallow down his nerves. 

There was a couple on a bench across from him, a family having a picnic on the lawn, and a dog -- perhaps part of a family but a ways away from it. Jensen tried not to get his hopes up that it might be Bisou, but he didn’t see anyone else nearby. 

He looked down at his phone, checked his email but there was nothing new. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to this -- again. 

The next time he looked up, Jeffrey Morgan was crossing in front of his path. Jensen’s stomach flipped, his mind sparking on the possibility of -- something -- but he pushed it down. That was crazy. 

Stopping in his tracks, Jeff smiled at him ruefully. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a stalker?”

Jensen laughed. “Hey now, I was here first. And what the hell, man, I _know_ I didn’t tell you where I was meeting him.” 

Jeff hummed. “Guess I’m just that intuitive. You excited?” 

“Yeah,” Jensen said weakly. “I mean, if he actually shows.”

When he looked back, Jeff was staring at him, gaze intent. “He’d have to be a damned fool to stand you up again.” 

Jensen’s heart thumped in his chest, warmth pooling in his belly. “Jeff…” 

“Jensen,” Jeff murmured, voice warmer than Jensen had ever heard it. 

“Um--” 

“There’s something I should tell you.” 

“Yes?” Jensen asked, his heart abruptly in his throat. 

“You’ll probably be hearing about it first thing Monday morning when it’s official, but -- your store is safe. We’re cancelling the build.” 

“What?” He was stunned. It didn’t make any sense. 

“I talked the board down. We’re going with the original Phase II proposal, an abandoned building in Beacon Hill. It doesn’t have the same prime location, and the money they’ll have to spend to get the building up to code and restoration efforts is comparable to the Phase I proposal costs, but it’s still feasible.” Jeff’s words sounded like one long ramble of business jargon to Jensen, his mind spinning at this turn of events. 

“There’s still no guarantee that _Emily’s_ will make it, Jensen,” Jeff said with feeling. “But, well, at least you’ll still be standing.” 

“I…” A tangle of emotions twisted inside him. “That’s... all I ever -- thank you.” 

Jeff regarded him quietly before nodding, expression less open than it was a minute ago. “You’re welcome.” He paused for a long moment. “You know, sometimes I wonder. If I hadn’t been _Morgan Books_ and you hadn’t been _Emily’s_. And we’d just… met.” 

Jensen held his breath. 

“I would’ve asked for your number. Probably wouldn’t have been able to wait 24 hours before calling and asking you out.”

“Jeff,” Jensen started, heart pounding wildly. “I--” 

“But then again, I put you through the ringer, didn’t I? Insulted you, tried to put you out of business. You probably can’t fully forgive all that. Not the way you can forgive... Bookman66 for standing you up.”

Jensen just looked at him, mouth working but no words coming out. 

“Oh how I wish you would, though,” Jeff said, earnestly.

“I…” Jensen started again, his mind now racing as fast as his heart. 

“Ah, well,” Jeff said, cutting him off. “Just a daydream, really, for one of those rainy Seattle days.” He held Jensen’s eyes, expression open and vulnerable. “I hope you find what you’re looking for, Jensen.” 

Jensen was frozen, indecision waring inside him, to -- what? Reach out and not let Jeff go? Ask why it only had to be a daydream? But all he could do was nod, choke out, “You too,” and watch as Jeff looked at him once more before he continued on down the concrete path and around the bend, now hidden from view by the trees that lined the walkway. 

Jensen dropped his head in his hands and breathed out, wondering why he felt like he’d just made the world’s biggest mistake while waiting to finally meet the person he was supposed to be in love with.

A few seconds later he heard a deep voice call, “Bisou! C’mon, girl, c’mere!” and looked up, eyes wide, scanning the expanse of the park for the voice. Suddenly the dog that Jensen thought was with the family came running forward off the grass, turning right when she reached the path. Jensen followed her destination, eyes raising to see -- Jeff. 

He was walking back from the way he’d just gone, head lowered now, hands in his pockets. Jensen had never seen him look so vulnerable. Bisou stopped at Jeff’s feet, nudging at his leg with her snout. 

Jensen couldn’t move, mouth open in shock. When Jeff stopped in front of him, Jensen just stared up at him. 

Jeff smiled down at him, sheepishly. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, holding his hand out. “J.D. aka Jeffrey Dean.” 

Jensen just stared at his outstretched hand before getting his wits about him and standing. “You… I didn’t… your business card just says Jeffrey Morgan…” It was such a stupid thing to say, but it was all Jensen had right now, unable to fully believe this. 

Jeff nodded, withdrawing his hand awkwardly. “Yeah, only my family and my ex call me Jeffrey Dean, and then only when they’re pissed at me. I don’t use it publicly. Once I took over the company they thought it would be best to make my own name for myself, distance myself from my father.” At Jensen’s puzzled look, he added, “His first name was Dean.” 

Jensen nodded, dazed, eyes unfocused. “You…” He shook his head, forced himself to meet Jeff’s eyes, which were still expressing nervousness. “How long have you known?” 

“Not until the cafe.” 

“You asshole,” Jensen muttered without heat, and found himself stepping closer, taking Jeff in. _Jeff_. J.D. was _Jeff_. 

“You hated me,” Jeff whispered. “I couldn’t -- I wanted to tell you, Jensen. So many times I wanted to. I was afraid you’d write me off, and justifiably so. I… didn’t want to lose you before I even had you.”

Jensen’s heart felt like it might beat out of his ribcage. He studied Jeff, read sincerity in every word. Still… “I don’t want you to have done this, with the shop, just to… to win me, manipulate me, or something.” 

Jeff was shaking his head before Jensen was done speaking. “I didn’t. I swear, I -- I did it because it was right thing to do. Because a wise person once told me that the value of a bookstore was found in more than just its physical stock.” 

Jensen dropped his head and laughed, feeling a little hysterical, like he would wake up any second if someone pinched him. When he looked up again, his eyes were a little wetter, lips stretched in a wide smile. 

He grabbed hold of the lapels of Jeff’s light jacket and tugged. “You asshole,” he said again. “I wanted it to be you.” He leaned forward, pressing upward so he could press his forehead to Jeff’s, and whispered, “I wanted it to be you so badly.” 

Jensen’s eyes closed as he felt Jeff’s fingers on his cheek, firm hand cupping his jaw. He moved back, titled Jensen’s face upward, and swept his thumb across Jensen’s cheekbone until his eyes opened again. 

“It’s me, Shopguy. It’s me.” 

His smile was soft and warm, and it wrapped around Jensen like a blanket as Jeff moved closer, ever so slowly, and finally closed the distance between them. 

The kiss was soft and shallow, learning the shape and curve of one another, until Jensen wrapped his arms around Jeff and pulled him down, lips parting to let him in, his face brushing up against the bottom of Jeff’s glasses every time they shifted the angle to kiss harder, deeper.. 

Bisou barked at their feet as Jeff moaned and gathered Jensen up in a strong embrace, nearly lifting him off the ground. Jensen grinned into the kiss and didn’t stop until they both needed to breathe and Bisou began jumping up, demanding kisses of her own.  
_______________________


	12. Chapter 12

If it had been up to Jensen, they would’ve been back at Jeff’s and screwing each other’s brains out that very afternoon, but somehow Jeff found the willpower to withstand Jensen’s husky, “let’s go back to your place” and offered a counter-proposal. 

“Let me take you out,” he whispered when they were standing in front of Jensen’s car, kissing against the driver’s side, Bisou already safely stowed in Jeff’s passenger seat. “Let me take you on a real date.”

Jensen groaned as Jeff’s mouth trailed over his jaw, teeth nipping at his chin. “Are you trying to woo me, Mr. Morgan? Because I gotta tell ya, I’m pretty much a sure bet here.”

Jeff laughed, low, eyes flashing at the thought. He buried his face in Jensen’s neck, smiling. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” He couldn’t remember the last time he'd felt this happy. Or when he’d turned into a total sap. “Just humor me, alright?”

It was Jensen’s turn to laugh, his arms tightening around Jeff. “Sure, okay. Knock yourself out.”

Jeff wasn’t about to do what he normally would on a date, though. That was: book a table to one of the most in-demand restaurants in town, using the pull of his name alone to get a last minute reservation, and pick his date up in a limo. 

Normally that would wow his companion enough to make up for any of Jeff’s other faults, and they’d be slipping between the sheets that very same night, although there was rarely a repeat performance. 

Except Jeff knew Jensen. Knew extravagance didn’t impress him, would in fact only make him uncomfortable. And moreover, Jensen was already well aware of Jeff’s faults. It was weird, being an open book for once. To not have to worry about the other shoe dropping. Jensen knew him at his worst and _still_ wanted to be here. 

So instead, he left Jensen with another deep kiss and asked him to be ready by 7:30. Jensen texted Jeff his address and Jeff wrote back to “dress casual.”

He found a barbecue place online that seemed laid back; oak interior, bar area in front and tables in the back. It reminded him of the places he used to frequent in college, when he could just be himself and not a rich heir to a successful businessman. Of a time when going to the right places, wearing the right thing, showing up at the right social events just didn’t matter at all. It’s been a while since Jeff let that guy see the light of day but honestly, maybe it was about time. 

Jeff was old enough to know he was never going to completely shed the person he’d become in the last twenty-five years, but he also knew that it wasn’t truly change if that other guy existed in the first place. He thought back to the way he’d expanded and diversified the company, how it was his college experiences that made him want to do it in the first place. Jensen brought that guy out in him. So it was time to show him more of that. He’d also hoped that the place could make Jensen think of Texas. 

Sure enough, Jensen seemed surprised when Jeff picked him up wearing a sweater and a pair of dark jeans. He’d also opted for his contacts, despite it being rather clear already that Jensen had a thing for Jeff in glasses. Jeff, however, didn’t want to deal with the possibility of not being able to see Jensen in all his glory later in the evening, if things did progress to the next level as he expected they may. 

Jensen didn’t seem to mind much, looking Jeff up and down with utter appreciation in his eyes. “Have I mentioned how much I like this look on you?” 

“Well, I did say casual,” Jeff laughed, taking in Jensen’s khakis and dark blue flannel button down. He looked gorgeous as always. 

Jensen laughed in return. “Yes well, I thought that could possibly mean business-casual in your world, so I took a gamble.”

“Smartass. Lets go.”

The ride there was comfortable, with Jensen browsing through the CDs in Jeff’s car and them trading musical tastes. 

“Oh wow,” Jensen said when they walked inside the restaurant and Jeff gave his name to the hostess. “This looks great.”

Pride swelled in Jeff’s chest and he couldn’t help but lean down to press a kiss to Jensen’s temple. “I’m glad you like it, sweetheart.”

Jensen’s eyes cut to him immediately, and Jeff suddenly remembered the first time he’d called him that, in a very different context. 

They were still staring at one another, the air thick around them, when the hostess came back with two menus in hand to lead them to a booth along the back wall. 

Dinner was filled with as much laughter as it was heated looks. Jeff thought it would be weird, connecting Shopguy and Jensen in his head now that the cat was out of the bag for both parties involved. Yet it wasn’t. They were able to marry their interactions as ‘J.D.’ and ‘Shopguy’ with Jeff and Jensen almost seamlessly. It gave Jeff a strong sense of hope. By the time they were looking at the dessert menu, the only thing Jeff wanted was Jensen. 

“I’m actually good,” Jensen said, putting his menu down, voice a little rough. “If you are.” He looked at Jeff through long lashes and Jeff swallowed hard. 

“Yeah. I’m all ready to go.”

Jensen smiled, muscle in his jaw jumping while Jeff downed the rest of his water. 

Jensen magnanimously let Jeff pay the bill with a promise of “I get the next one.” Jeff was so goddamn happy that it seemed as though there would be an infinite number of “next times” that he didn’t even protest. 

The ride back to Jensen’s apartment was charged and seemed to go on for an eternity. 

Jensen turned to him when they were finally parked in front of his apartment. “Would you like to come up for coffee?”

“Absolutely.”

They stole looks at each other the whole way up the walk and to Jensen’s door. Once inside, Jenen lead him into the living room. Jeff could make out the kitchen just off to the right. The place wasn’t very big but it was nice and homey from what he could tell; it suited Jensen. That was the only observation Jeff really had a chance to make as Jensen spun around when they were just about to pass the couch, reached up to grab Jeff’s shoulders, and pressed up for a slightly off-centered kiss. 

Jeff growled and wrapped an arm around Jensen’s lower back, securing him. He exhaled sharply, breath hot between them. 

“Confession,” Jensen said, voice low, lips skimming Jeff’s. “I didn’t really invite you in for coffee.”

“Confession: I’m really fucking glad,” Jeff replied against Jensen’s mouth and kissed him harder, walking them backward to the couch. 

Jeff fell onto it and pulled Jensen down onto his lap, groaning when their hips came into contact. They were both mostly hard already and the friction had him shivering with anticipation. Jeff settled his hands on Jensen's ass while Jensen’s looped around his shoulders. They kissed slow and deep, tongues brushing together, teeth nipping. Jeff’s hands kneaded the firm cheeks of Jensen’s ass, eliciting a long, low groan that was almost sinful. 

They start a slow grind, just the smallest circling of hips and pressing up of thighs. Jeff couldn’t remember the last time he made out like this, like he had all the time in the world, yet also might fly out of his skin if he didn’t come soon. 

Jensen’s hands stroked up and down Jeff’s arms, causing his skin to tingle with every touch. Jeff’s own hands found their way up under Jensen’s shirt, bunching up the fabric in their wake, his fingers dragging up Jensen’s back. 

Jensen arched and moaned against Jeff’s lips, head tipping back and forcing Jeff to kiss his way down his neck instead. 

Jensen’s skin was hot beneath his mouth as he licked and kissed his way down, tonguing at the dip of his neck and making Jensen groan loudly, his hold on Jeff’s shoulders tightening. 

Jensen’s hips jerked against Jeff’s own and they both moaned again, the heat between them ratcheting up a few notches. Jeff dragged his lips up the column of Jensen’s neck again before attacking his mouth, the kiss opened-mouth and desperate. 

“God. Oh, fuck, I want you,” Jensen groaned against Jeff’s lips. 

Jeff suckled on his jaw, nipped at his chin. “Bedroom,” he groaned, tilting his hips upward again, erection straining in his jeans. “Fuck, let's—“

“Yes. Yes, yes,” Jensen panted and climbed off him. Jeff stood immediately, didn’t let him get far, diving in for another kiss as they stood in front of the couch, pressed together from legs to chest. The journey to the bedroom was filled with stops and starts and near falls. They stumbled against an end table, made out against a wall, bumped into a door, and finally, finally were inside Jensen’s room. They’d also lost their shirts and shoes along the way, which Jeff appreciated. 

He showed that appreciation with his hands on Jensen’s chest, palming over the flat planes and smooth, curved muscle. Jensen had a light, smattering of dirty blond hair down the center of his chest and yes, clusters of freckles all over. Jeff wanted to get his mouth everywhere at once, but Jensen was rather caught up in Jeff’s own body, scraping his nails down Jeff’s considerably hairier chest and loving it, if the dark look in his eyes was anything to go on. 

Jeff’s hands dropped to Jensen’s ass, first teasing in a light caress and then squeezing hard when Jensen trembled under his touch. Jensen groaned loudly and leaned up for another kiss, desperate and wanting. Jeff pulled him in even closer, grinding their bodies together as he felt Jensen up, firm cheeks beneath his palms that he never wanted to stop touching. He thought of what they did online together, the way Jensen went crazy for Jeff’s words and suddenly Jeff didn’t want anything else. 

Jeff broke the kiss, panting against Jensen’s mouth. “Wanna eat you out,” he whispered roughly, dragging his mouth down to Jensen’s neck, his beard scratching into his skin along the way. “Wanna make you fall apart on my tongue like you did that night, sweetheart. Except for real this time.” 

Jensen’s entire body jerked at Jeff’s words, his cock hard and thick along Jeff’s thigh, and Jeff drank in the undeniable proof of how much Jensen wanted him. “Christ, yes. Please, Jeff.” 

Jeff pulled back to look at Jensen, took in his blown pupils, his lips kiss-swollen and impossibly fuller. He cupped Jensen’s jaw, held his face firm in his hand. “Look at you. So fucking responsive,” Jeff growled, low, his entire body thrumming. He leaned in, nipped at Jensen’s jaw right next to where his fingers were holding firm. “You drive me absolutely crazy. From the second I talked to you online. From the first moment I saw you in that shop.” 

“Same,” Jensen gasped, pulling Jeff down to his lips for another intense kiss. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you, even when I wanted to.” 

They fell onto Jensen’s bed together like teenagers, uncoordinated and clumsy, knees knocking together and bodies half hanging off the mattress. Jensen laughed as they kissed and the sound was like music to Jeff’s ears. He wasn’t sure when he’d turned into the world’s most romantic sap, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to shower Jensen with bouquets of roses, wanted to hire a fucking orchestra to serade outside his window, wanted to take him on his yacht and make love to him under the moonlight. Jeff laughed to himself then, at his own ridiculous sensibilities, and it only made Jensen smile more against his mouth as they finally righted themselves on the bed, Jeff on top and his body pressing Jensen’s deliciously into the mattress. 

Jensen was panting beneath him as Jeff kissed his way down his throat, over his clavicle, down his chest. His hands wandered up and down Jeff’s back before slipping under his jeans and underwear and settling firm on the bare skin of Jeff’s ass. 

Jeff groaned and pressed back into the touch, scratching his beard along the center of Jensen’s chest. 

“Oh God, I love that,” Jensen moaned. Jeff grinned and did it again, pulling back to see the angry red beard burn he’d left in his wake. He flashed on a thought of the inside of Jensen’s thighs looking the same way, of his cheeks all pinked up, and had to bite back a groan and will his dick to calm down. Jeff leaned in again, running his beard along one hardened nipple before flicking at it with his tongue. 

Jensen moaned again, his hands tightening on Jeff’s ass and pulling him closer. His cock was pressed along Jeff’s hip and Jeff pressed down against him, pulling the nipple between his teeth now and then sucking. He did the same with the other until Jensen’s chest was heaving and red from his lips, teeth, and beard. 

Jensen pulled Jeff up for another frenzied kiss, and they fell onto their sides, working at one another’s pants, impatience finally giving way.

There was more laughter into one another’s mouths as they kicked the offending fabric away. Jeff couldn’t recall when he last had this much unabashed fun in bed. 

The laughter died away, though, when Jensen grabbed Jeff’s hand and pressed it right up against his erection. 

“Fuck,” Jeff breathed, palming the bulge beneath Jensen’s boxer briefs. Jensen shivered into the touch and rocked against Jeff’s hand, reaching out himself to grab hold of Jeff’s cock through his own briefs. 

“God,” Jensen whispered, burying his face in Jeff’s neck as they both stroked one another leisurely, still on their sides, one leg each slung over one another’s hips, tangled together. 

Jensen ran his fingers slowly, so fucking slowly, up from the outline of Jeff’s balls to the tip of his cock. Jeff shivered at the touch. He could already tell he wasn’t as big as Jensen, length wise, but he was pretty sure he was thicker, and God, did he want to be buried in Jensen’s ass yesterday. 

“What do you like to do?” Jeff asked, words so thick with arousal he wasn’t sure how they even got out. “Tell me.” 

Jensen moaned as Jeff jacked him a little harder, still through the fabric. “Like getting fucked,” he breathed, and Jeff silently wept with joy. He had a feeling Jensen might be into it, but it felt so good to have confirmation. “I’ll top sometimes, but...” He sucked hard on Jeff’s collarbone, pressed the heel of his palm on Jeff’s dick. “I really, really like getting fucked, Jeff,” Jensen finished lowly, his voice liquid sin. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jeff gasped, cock jerking against Jensen’s hand. He buried his face in Jensen’s neck, kissing his shoulder, the base of his throat. “Good. That’s good. Cause I really, really want to fuck you, Jensen.” 

He didn’t tell Jensen that he too liked getting fucked on occasion. It wasn’t something he did often, but it'd been known to happen and -- well, he could definitely see it happening again in the near future. He figured he’d save that tidbit for another time, though, was mostly just relieved that they were going to be sexually compatible when it came to this particular topic. 

Jeff decided he couldn’t handle any more foreplay and just went for it, slipping his hand into the opening of Jensen’s underwear and grabbing hold of his dick. Jensen jerked in his arms, gasping and letting out a long, low moan. He immediately followed suit and soon they were jacking each other off and licking into one another’s mouths, palms too dry for it to be perfect, yet still so fucking good. 

They shimmied out of their underwear, and then Jensen insisted they take off their socks too. “It’s ridiculous, fucking with your socks on,” he said, voice indignant, forehead scrunched up. It was so damned adorable Jeff had to stop mid-sock disrobing to kiss him breathless. 

“I didn’t know socks did it for you, man,” Jensen giggled, fucking _giggled_ , and Jeff kissed him again, tipping Jensen backward onto the bed and tossing the offensive socks over his shoulder. 

It was a million times better now that they were naked, and that was saying a lot. Jeff slotted their bodies together, leg between Jensen’s thighs, erection nudged up against his own. 

“Fuck, yes,” Jensen groaned, gripping Jeff’s ass again and rocking upward. 

Jeff let out a helpless whine, buried his face against Jensen’s neck. “God, the things I want to do to you.” 

“Do them,” Jensen moaned, dragging his cock sinfully against Jeff’s. 

That sounded like an amazing idea to Jeff. He dragged his beard down Jensen’s throat and over his chest, already knowing how much Jensen loved it. This time, though, he went lower, kissing and licking Jensen’s abs, his stomach, hands framing his torso, mouth so close to his cock. 

Jeff heard a sharp inhale from above him, felt Jensen tremble beneath his hands as he mouthed down even further, burying his face in the nest of curls at the base of Jensen’s cock, breathing him in. Jensen moaned, his hands moving to Jeff’s hair, fingers scratching along his scalp. Jeff gripped him by the base, licked a slow line up the underside of his cock, reveling in Jensen’s choked off moan and the way his fingers tightened in Jeff’s hair. 

Jeff closed his lips around the head and sucked, delighting in Jensen’s soft “Oh.” He sucked Jensen down slowly, keeping his mouth slack, wanting to tease him a bit. Jensen just groaned and Jeff could tell he was dying to fuck up into his mouth. Jeff couldn’t quite manage taking all of him in, but with a lot of practice he was confident he could. His heart swelled in his chest at the thought of being able to do just that, of going out on dates with Jensen, spending weekends together in and out of bed, being a _couple_. It wasn’t something Jeff thought he’d ever want again, yet now the concept thrilled him. 

He pulled off Jensen’s cock, chuckled quietly for thinking such things while sucking dick, and then moved lower, mouthing at Jensen’s balls, pressing his cheek to the inside of Jensen’s thigh and letting his beard drag over the sensitive skin. 

“God, Jeff,” Jensen breathed like a prayer, and Jeff moved to the other thigh, repeating his movements, pressing hard, biting kisses there before spreading Jensen’s legs wider, tipping him backward a bit so he could get at exactly where he wanted to be. Jeff settled more firmly on his knees and bent forward, kneading Jensen’s ass beneath his palms, pressing a kiss to one cheek and then the other. Jensen groaned, his hands now tangled in the comforter on either side of Jeff. Jeff could practically feel the antipication thrumming through Jensen’s body. Jeff parted Jensen’s cheeks, dragged his index finger down his crack and over his hole, applying the slightest bit of pressure. Jensen keened, pressed into the touch. Jeff let out a low moan himself and nuzzled his face along one cheek. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re incredible,” he breathed, before moving his mouth to Jensen’s hole and flicking his tongue out. 

“Oh, god, yes.” 

Jeff was so hard it hurt, his dick pressed into the mattress as he settled in closer, parting both of Jensen’s cheeks wide and licking a long, slow line upward. Jensen let out a low mewl that spurred Jeff on. He licked him again and again before pressing open-mouthed, sucking kisses against his hole. When he finally worked his tongue around the rim and dipped inside, Jensen nearly screamed. 

Jeff couldn’t remember if he’d ever been with someone so responsive, blown away by how unbearably hot it was, how crazy Jensen drove him. His taste, his sounds, the way he was now grabbing feebly at Jeff’s shoulders. He was by far the hottest thing Jeff ever had in his bed and he might not ever let him out of it.

Jeff pushed his tongue in deeper and began fucking in earnest as Jensen cursed above him. 

“Fuck, don’t stop. _God_ , your mouth. Jeff.” 

His voice got deeper the more turned on he was, his Texas drawl coming out a bit, and it was going to be Jeff’s demise. He listened to Jensen’s pleas for another moment or two before pulling back and running his beard all over the firm cheeks of his ass again. Jenen cried out and Jeff sat back, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. When he looked at Jensen he was undone, pupils blown, mouth bitten red. 

“Turn over,” Jeff said, voice rough, feeling the way Jensen looked. Heat flared in Jensen’s eyes and he nodded, the two of them arranging him so he was spread out on his stomach. 

Jeff settled back in between his spread thighs and went to town again, his mouth everywhere -- the curve of Jensen’s cheeks, in between them, the back of his thighs, over his balls. By the time Jeff was done, Jensen’s ass was slick with saliva and a gorgeous shade of red courtesy of his facial hair. Jensen’s back was moving up and down with every shallow intake from his lungs, his hands clenched in the fabric of the blanket at his sides. 

Jeff dragged his hands up the expanse of Jensen’s back slowly before following his path with his mouth and body, covering Jensen and suckling at one shoulderblade. “You’re gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous.” 

“Jeff,” Jensen gasped, reaching behind to palm at Jeff’s hip and hold him close. “God, fuck me. Do it, c’mon.” His words were slurred, like he was completely blissed out on pleasure. 

“Yes,” Jeff groaned, mouthing the back of Jensen’s neck, his cock nudged up against Jensen’s ass. He pressed in firmer against him, felt himself slide between his cheeks, the friction delicious.

“Oh, god,” Jensen moaned into the pillow, his hand clenching rhythmically on Jeff’s hip. “Fuck, please.” 

Jeff’s dick jerked as it rode along the crack of Jensen’s ass. He thrust against him for a few moments more before it became too much of a tease.

“You got stuff?” Jeff murmured, kissing the shell of Jensen’s ear. 

“Yeah,” Jensen replied quietly, and God, they were really doing this. 

Jensen reached over for the drawer of his bedside table, fumbling a bit. Jeff smiled and rolled off him, palming Jensen’s side, the curve of his ass, unable to keep from touching him, like his hand was controlled by some magnetic pull. 

Jensen turned onto his back and held up a tube of lube and a condom, his cheeks red, his hair sweaty and rumpled. Jeff’s heart thudded. 

He took the items from Jensen, pressed a kiss to his jaw, his neck. “How do you want to do this?” he asks, the words a rumble against Jensen’s overheated skin. 

“Wanna see you,” Jensen said, arching his neck backward as Jeff moved his lips down the column of his throat. 

“Mmm. Wanna ride me, sweetheart?” 

Jensen’s heart was beating loud, his pulse jumping beneath Jeff’s lips. “Christ, yes. But not tonight. Just -- want you over me, in me. Wanna feel you everywhere, Jeff.” 

“God,” Jeff groaned, fingers nearly dropping the condom. They settled back into position. Jeff didn’t waste too much time with prep, as per Jensen’s instructions. 

“I’m so ready after your tongue, man,” he said, voice pure sin yet again as he looked at Jeff through his long eyelashes, those green eyes piercing. 

Jeff opened him with his fingers for a minute because he refused to do absolutely nothing at all and then rolled on the condom, lifting Jensen’s legs so they were up around his waist. Then Jeff was lined up and pushing in slowly, oh so slow. 

Jensen’s eyes widened then fell shut, a long, low moan escaping his lips. Jeff couldn’t stop staring at him, panting as his cock slid in a little deeper. Jensen was tight, hot, and too perfect. 

“Christ, baby,” he whispered, covering Jensen’s body and causing his dick to sink in even further. “So fucking hot.” 

“Ngghh,” Jensen groaned, unintelligible, grasping Jeff’s shoulders and pulling him that much closer, legs tightening around the small of his back. “Fuck, you feel so good.” 

Jeff paused when his balls were flush against Jensen’s ass, Jensen’s dick trapped between them, pressed against Jeff’s belly as he lay still for a moment. “Gimme a second, okay sweetheart? Not as young as you are.” 

Jensen laughed and swatted his shoulder. “Gonna show me what you got, old man?” 

Jeff groaned, teeth dragging against Jensen’s collarbone. “Shit, you know it.” He breathed in deep, counted to three, and then began to move. 

“Oh my god,” Jensen moaned as Jeff started a slow pace, thrusting in before pulling nearly all the way out, dick catching along Jensen’s rim before he pushed back into the delicious heat. 

“Jeff,” Jensen breathed, pulling him in even closer. 

Jeff lifted his head and their lips met, slow and dream-like. It wasn’t like Jeff had imagined it going, to be honest. He thought they’d be frenzied from the start but this -- this was kind of amazing, this slow, easy fucking like they’d been doing it their whole lives. 

They didn’t stop kissing, finding a synchronic rhythm between their mouths and hips, swallowing one another’s moans. Jeff fucked Jensen long and slow and good, drawing it out, making it last until desperation finally took over. 

Jensen broke away from Jeff’s insatiable mouth when he began slamming into him, crying out and panting, his nails digging into Jeff’s back. 

“Oh, God, there, right there.” 

Jeff pulled out and slammed back in, hitting Jensen’s prostate with each thrust now, if by the way he was arching and moaning was anything to go by, his ass tightening around Jeff’s dick. 

“You’re gonna make me come,” Jeff groaned, face buried in Jensen’s neck. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He reached between them, jerking Jensen’s dick which was slick with pre-come and so fucking hard. “You close?” 

“Yeah,” Jensen gasped. “Oh, _God_ , yeah.” 

“C’mon, then, baby,” Jeff whispered against Jensen’s throat, teeth dragging over his Adam’s apple as his hips snapped forward viciously, fucking into him hard and deep. “Come for me.” 

“God, _Jeff_. Fuck.” Jensen met his thrusts, hips tilted upward, his dick pushing further into Jeff’s grip as a result of the movement, and started to come, his entire body going taut like a bow, ass squeezing around Jeff’s cock almost painfully. 

Jeff closed his eyes, sweat getting in them, and panted against Jensen’s mouth, their lips barely connecting as he continued to jerk Jensen’s cock, the feel of his come hot against his stomach. Jeff’s hips began to lose their finesse, then, and he was coming himself, groaning out Jensen’s name as he did. His hips jerked again and again, hard against Jensen, his moans filling the air as he came harder than he could remember in recent memory. 

“Holy hell,” Jeff gasped, trying to relearn how to breathe as his body began to come down. 

“Shit. I’ll say.” Jensen was panting beneath him, his hands stroking up and down Jeff’s back, one leg dropping down onto the bed. 

Jeff smiled against Jensen’s mouth, kissed him long and slow. “Ready for me to pull out?” he whispered after a moment. 

“Mmm, kay,” Jensen said, stealing another kiss. 

Jeff did so slowly, holding the condom in place before flopping onto his back and peeling it off. He tied it and chucked it into the wastebasket beside the bed before landing on his back again and stretching his arms over his head. “Jesus Christ.” He blinked up at the ceiling, voice awestruck. 

He heard Jensen laugh from somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder and then felt a warm weight pressed along his side and a mouth placing soft kisses along his chest. “Better not say I killed you, old man. I’ve got plans for you.” 

Jeff smiled, turning to look at him. Jensen was debauched and gorgeous and looked -- so fucking happy. As happy as Jeff felt. Jeff reached out, ran a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. “Oh yeah? And what might these plans consist of?” 

Jensen bent to kiss his chest again. “Mm, sucking your dick for starters.” Jeff shivered, moaning softly as Jensen tugged his nipple between his teeth. “Riding you so fucking slow and for so long, barely moving on top of you. Driving you crazy from it.” 

“Christ,” Jeff breathed out, eyes wide. 

Jensen smiled against his skin. “So many more things. After all, we’ve got time, right?” 

Jeff had a feeling Jensen was going for light, but he could hear the insecurity at the end of his sentence. He cupped Jensen’s jaw, forced his gaze up. 

Their eyes met and Jeff was hit again by just how much this man meant to him, just how much he -- 

“We’ve got all the time you want, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Jeff couldn’t say it, even though his whole body was screaming with the want to. It was so cliche, saying those three words right after sex. No, he’d save them for another time, when the moment was just right. After all, he was in this one for the long haul. 

Jensen smiled at him widely, eyes bright and filled with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere either,” he replied slowly, like maybe he wanted to say something more too. 

Jeff had a feeling that Shopguy78 and Bookman66 were finally on the same page. 

**The End.**


End file.
